


et in arcadia ego

by tootsonnewts



Series: exercise your demons [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Demon Mating, F/M, M/M, University student Keith, alternate universe - demon au, bang ur demons, deep dish demon dicking, demon shiro, goth keith, shiro drags keith's ass straight to hell, shiro's a literal demon, so just jot that down, there's some anal, there's some breathplay, there's some oral, we get very e·mo·tion·al, we get wild y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13796430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: “What does that mean?” he asks. He knows runes and greek symbols. At least, he’s vaguely familiar enough with them to understand what they mean. This looks nothing like those.“Ah, that is a mystery you’ll need to unravel on your own,” the woman answers, turning the book around for him to appraise. She flips a few pages for him, revealing old parchment coated in Latin and drawings. It looks like-“A spellbook?”keith stumbles upon an ancient spellbook at a flea market. things go magnificently sideways from there.





	1. and in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astraldefender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraldefender/gifts).



> i currently have two main lanes in this life: sarcastic, fluffy shitposting and demon daddy domming.
> 
> here, you can observe me furiously changing between these two lanes. i’m doing a hundred with no seatbelt, the wind is blowing fabulously through my hair, my lipstick is flawless, and this car is stolen.
> 
> this comes at michaela’s suggestion and is inspired by [this art](https://juno8482.tumblr.com/post/169651447214/if-i-was-good-with-making-stories-i-wouldve-made) by [juno8482 on tumblr](https://juno8482.tumblr.com/).
> 
> please enjoy goth keith just getting d e s t r o y e d.

The musky scent of age lays heavy on the flea market warehouse. It’s deep and complex, unique and thrilling. The dust of decades past coats everything in a filmy haze, pulling Keith forward on curled tendrils of mystery, the excitement of potential discovery thrumming heavy in his veins.

He pushes deeper into the building, driven forward by a soul-deep need for revelation. As he wades through cramped aisles and bustling stalls, he suddenly feels a presence tugging at his awareness, beckoning him off the regular path toward a ramshackle table set up in a back corner. The feeling is a pulsing in his chest, speeding like a homing beacon as he nears the unassuming stand. The table is simple, a small aluminum thing draped in a clean, white cloth. On top of the fabric sits several antique books, all beaten down leather with worn edges and broken spines. Around the books, a variety of crystals and charms, burning incense, and several other trinkets Keith doesn’t recognize.

Keith pulls up in front of it, gently laying fingertips across the covers of the books on top of each stack. They’re all impressive in their obvious age, beautiful with the effects of skin oils and time. But they’re not what he’s looking for. He knows this as a bone-deep truth. What his body is calling for, what the tug is dragging him to isn’t here. It’s an impossible truth, but still, he knows it like the sky knows the stars.

A cracked, rasping voice calls his attention upward. “You seem one with a keen eye.”

A kindly old woman stands behind the table, thin and bent over an old cane crafted from a tree branch older than time itself, it seems. Where she came from, Keith has no idea, but she’s here nonetheless.

“Are these yours?” he asks, for lack of anything better to answer her with.

“Indeed they are,” she confirms, narrowing her eyes at his chest. “But none of these are what you seek.”

Keith startles at her words.

“I think,” she continues, bending to reach below the table, “that this may better suit your interests.”

She produces a small wooden chest, nondescript and beaten. The latches and hinges are a simple hammered metal, the joints roughly carved dovetails. Nothing on the box is new, nothing draws attention. But it calls to him like a siren. Its song is unique, a dog whistle tuned to his ears and his ears alone. It’s a low hum, deep and rolling, filling his head until his mind feels like little more than cotton filling.

“May I?” he asks cautiously, eyes fixed on the box. Before he finishes his words, the woman is already nudging the box his way. He reaches out, the sound gaining frequency and volume, bouncing around the walls of his skull. His fingertips touch the lid and all sound falls away.

His mind goes silent, the market dead to him. All that remains is the box and Keith. His fingers trace burning paths across the rough surface until he finds the latch and flips it, opening the lid.

In a rush, his environment returns to him. Sound pours into his ears, his fingers tingle where they touch the box. He looks up, startled, and catches himself under the scrutinizing gaze of the old woman, now standing tall and straight.

“It would seem I was correct,” she breathes. “Well, this will be leaving with you today. Allow me to tell you about it.”

Keith leans forward, gazing down into the box. At the bottom rests another book, but it’s different than the rest of the tomes on display. The cover is badly beaten, scratched leather with tarnished copper corner pieces. There is no writing on the cover that he can make out - it’s completely blank, aside from a single symbol painted on the spine. He spies it as the woman lifts the book from the box to crack it open for him.

“What does that mean?” he asks. He knows runes and greek symbols. At least, he’s vaguely familiar enough with them to understand what they mean. This looks nothing like those.

“Ah, that is a mystery you’ll need to unravel on your own,” the woman answers, turning the book around for him to appraise. She flips a few pages for him, revealing old parchment coated in Latin and drawings. It looks like-

“A spellbook?”

“Indeed,” she answers. “I cannot tell from when or where it came, I’ve been unable to find anything else quite like it. It seems, however, destined to fall into your hands. An old woman cannot possibly stand in the way of a fate such as that. But, still-” she snaps the book closed- “we have more to cover.”

Gingerly, she closes the book and sets it back in the box, withdrawing a gleaming dagger and crystal pendant. The pendant is an unassuming thing, a simple point of amethyst mounted to a black, leather cord. The dagger, however, is unique. Keith has never seen anything like it. It’s jagged in its design, curved outward lightly on either side of the deeply beveled blade. The handle is thin and black, ending with a bulbous, pointed form. In the center of the handguard is the same symbol from the book's spine, a gleaming purple sigil that nearly glows.

“A ceremonial dagger,” the woman says evenly. “Not every ceremony requires a dagger, but the ones in this book do. I would caution you, though. These spells are powerful. Dangerous to perform if one isn’t already a powerful witch. But you have nothing to worry about there, it seems.”

Keith snaps his head up to look at her.

“What?”

She regards him silently for a moment.

“What indeed.”

The closing bell for the flea market rings loud overhead, startling Keith out of their staredown. The woman doesn’t move for several measured seconds.

“No matter,” she says. “Let’s get this packaged up for you.”

Some long minutes later, Keith finds himself walking home with a linen-wrapped parcel in his hands. It’s not until he locks his front door and sets it down on his coffee table that he realizes he never paid the woman. He leaves the box in a daze to grab a cup of water from the kitchen before returning to scoop it up and carry it his bedroom for closer inspection. Sprawling across his bed, Keith pulls the box into his lap and flips the lid. The rush of sound doesn’t happen like it did in the flea market, but he still feels a peculiar draw of energy pulsing from the box. He tugs out the book and lays it open on his lap.

Flipping through the pages isn’t very illuminating. The entire thing is written in Latin and several other languages he doesn’t quite recognize. Still, though, he can’t quite bring himself to set it down. The illustrations are well-drawn and interesting, pictures of plants and animals, creatures he’s never seen before, people that aren’t _really_ people. Everything drawn is just to the left of actual things he could identify them as - as if they were objects found in another dimension. He ponders over that fact as he flips through a few more pages, landing on one that draws him up short.

In the upper left corner is a perfect illustration of the dagger that accompanied the book. Around it, in spindles of text, Latin mixed with modern English. Symbols and runes decorate the page. At the bottom, a crude drawing of a man with horns. It’s simpler than the rest of the pictures in the book, almost as if it was drawn in a rush. Just enough to get the idea down, but not enough to flesh it out. Keith runs his fingers across the page, a hum of energy crackling up his arm as he goes.

He grunts, pulling his hand back abruptly in shock. Curiously, he reaches into the box at his side, withdrawing the dagger. The woman from the stall had wrapped the handle in a strip of linen when she packaged the box for him, so he pulls the strip of fabric away, turning the knife around in his hands. He twists it around in his grip, comparing it to the drawing and trying to figure out why a book would even need to come with its own knife in the first place.

He loses himself in his consideration, and in his distraction, the blade slips in his palms. Keith winces as the point of the blade pricks his fingertip. He curses and shakes his hand against the pulsing in his finger. As he flicks his hand around, a drop of blood falls to the page beneath. Keith watches as it lands. The blood hits the paper and is absorbed in a yellow glow. Which is, quite frankly,

“Impossible.”

Keith is nothing if not impulsive at times. He looks between the dagger in his hand and the page of the book and makes his decision. He sits up on his knees, setting the open book on the mattress before him. Taking a deep breath, he slices the pad of his thumb open, hissing as the blade cuts through his skin. Before he can stop himself, he drops his hand, dragging his dripping thumb along the page. The blood disappears again, sinking into the paper with a bright yellow glow. The book hums under his touch, growing in volume the longer his hand contacts it. The hum grows and changes, becoming jagged words, whispered harshly into the room. It suffocates and shakes him, and he tries to rip his hand from the page. He can’t, though. His finger is affixed to the page, and the book refuses to give him up.

The whispering grows and changes, becoming terrifying shrieks of language he cannot understand. The sound smothers him, wrapping around him as he struggles against it. It crescendos and pulls at him, lapping at his skin and tugging at his clothes. Keith whimpers and shakes against its bonds until, finally, he finds his voice.

“No!” he shrieks, and as if his voice was the key, it all stops. Keith scrambles across the bed, snapping the book closed and hastily wrapping the blade with the linen before shoving it all back in the box and cramming it in the back of his closet.

He spends the night on the couch.

 

+++

 

In the morning, the harsh buzz of his cellphone against the shitty particle board of his IKEA coffee table startles him out of dreamless sleep. Groaning and rubbing at his crusted eyes, he bats his hand along the surface until he bumps into it, wrapping groggy fingers around the metal and glass.

 **_Pidge:_ ** _Good morning, my little edgelord. Wherefore art thou, my precious telltale goth?_

Keith glances at the time and jolts up from the couch. He’s ten minutes late for the Engineering class he shares with Pidge, and at this rate, he’d only make it for the last twenty minutes. He’s exhausted and still feeling off-kilter from his experience the night before, so for just this once, he decides to cut himself some slack.

 **_Me:_ ** _Sorry, Katie. I’m not feeling too hot today so I’m gonna stay home._

 **_Pidge:_ ** _Are you sure? You never miss class._

 **_Pidge:_ ** _Do I need to come over?_

Keith panics for a second. He can still feel the book like shrapnel in his spine. The whispers still echo in his head, the wind still whips at his skin. He feels tightly wound with nerves, and the worst part is he can still _feel it_. The draw of the book still calls to him, beckoning him back toward his bedroom closet, begging him to crack the cover once more. Maybe staying home isn’t the best idea. Maybe it would be best to go get some air.

 **_Me:_ ** _No, it’s fine. I might go get some soup or something soon._

 **_Me:_ ** _Don’t worry about me, I’m good._

 **_Pidge:_ ** _If you insist. But I’m coming over if you still don’t feel good tomorrow!!!_

 **_Pidge:_ ** _And I’m bringing Lance. You know he loves giving you shit._

 **_Me:_ ** _My hero. Thank you for your kindness, m’lady._

 **_Pidge:_ ** _I’ll buy your ass a fedora. Don’t tempt me, you raven ass bitch._

 **_Me:_ ** _Nevermore._

Chuckling, Keith sets his phone down on the couch. He fell asleep in the clothes he had worn to the flea market, and this poses a problem. He needs to get dressed and put on some makeup, but his clothes and everything he needs are in his dresser. In the bedroom. Where the book is.

“Okay, Keith. Okay. You can do this. This is nothing.”

Steeling himself, he curls his hands into fists and stomps into the bedroom. He grabs some jeans and a shirt, his favorite boots, and his makeup bag in record time and dashes from the room. The book remains silent and he lets out a breath of relief, heading toward the bathroom and a nice, hot shower.

Thirty minutes later finds him in the local park, wandering the trails with a much tamer book in his hands. If he missed class for the day, he figures he might as well get some homework out of the way instead. He finds a gazebo and settles down at the old picnic table within. As he sets to work, he listens quietly to the sounds of the surrounding woods. He’s always liked it out in nature, despite what his appearance would suggest. Yeah, he wears dark clothes and fishnets and black eyeshadow smudged to perfection, but he’s always been kind of crunchy at heart. He favors the natural, damp smells of the forest leaves and dirt. He loves the sun-mottled green of the plants and grasses. He finds peace on the banks of a river. It suits him.

A twig snaps off in the distance, snapping him out of his contemplation. It’s the woods, this isn’t something surprising. However, when a twig snaps in the woods and Keith is around to hear it, Keith really hears it. He shakes off the surprise and goes back to his work.

Two equations later, a twig snaps again. This time, it’s closer. Keith shifts around in his seat, trying his best to ignore it. Another problem, another snap. It’s closer again. Keith’s neck burns like he’s being watched. Which is impossible. He didn’t spot anyone coming or going as he wandered the trails. Another snap, another advance. The blood rushes in his ears. Keith clears his throat loudly and scrunches his eyes, taking a deep breath to center himself.

Snap.

Closer.

Snap.

Closer.

Snap.

_Behind him._

Keith whirls around with a shout, fists raised at the ready to attack-

No one. There’s nobody there. No disturbance on the ground. Nothing to reflect the advance of anything, be it human or animal. Tears prickle at his eyes, but he holds them back, squaring his shoulders and holding his head high. He gathers his things with shaking hands and leaves the forest on rubber-band knees. His back burns the entire trek out.

When Keith arrives home, he shoves the box to the back of the cabinet under the kitchen sink and falls into a fitful sleep.

The rest of the week doesn’t treat him much better. Everywhere he goes, he feels the presence of eyes on him, a ghostly hand swiping across his lower back, a prickling just behind his eyes. He turns jumpy and nervous, even in places he once felt safe. Pidge and Lance notice his odd behavior, he knows they do, but they stay quiet, leaving him to deal with whatever issue he’s working through.

The incidents get worse. On Tuesday, his doorbell rings, and when he opens the door, he finds nothing there but a broken twig. On Wednesday, he wanders to the kitchen for a soda, only to find the dagger in the cheese drawer of the fridge, unwrapped and taunting under the crackling fluorescent light. On Thursday, he gets dressed and rushes out the door to meet Lance and Pidge at the library.

“There’s our favorite emo kid!” Lance calls from the front table they always sit at.

“Shut up, Lance,” Pidge chastises, elbowing him in the side. “Besides, he’s a Victorian widow, not emo.”

“Fuck off, both of you,” Keith grouses, plopping down in his seat and rubbing his face.

“Keith, you alright buddy?” Lance asks. “You’re not wearing makeup. I can see your eyes. You look like shit.”

Keith glares across the table at him.

“Not to be that guy, but he’s right,” Pidge chimes in. “You look exhausted. And what is that around your neck?”

“What?” Keith asks, reaching up to where her eyesight is trained. He pats his hand on his chest until his fingers brush the item in question. His blood runs cold in his veins, trickles of ice where his lifelines once laid.

He doesn’t remember putting the necklace on.

 

+++

 

By the next Saturday, the sensation of not being watched becomes novel. More often than not, Keith finds himself glancing over his shoulder and huddling in on himself in hopes of becoming too small to notice. The moment he reaches up to clutch at the pendant around his neck and realizes again that it’s on his body without his permission is the moment he decides he’s had enough. He rips the cord from his throat, shoves it in the old wooden box with the book and dagger, and hightails it back to the Saturday flea market.

Keith storms into the old warehouse and spends hours combing the place. He checks every stall, every table, every makeshift booth, but he doesn’t find the one he needs. He asks the merchants that were nearby, but none of them recall ever seeing an old woman hocking books of any sort. _Of course_ they don’t remember.

Keith curses low in his throat. He doesn’t want to just leave the thing, but he can’t keep it. He physically can’t handle it anymore. He feels it like a millstone around his neck, dragging him deeper into the depths. He’s on his last vestiges of sanity and needs to come up, gasping for air. Resolutely, Keith dumps the box in a dark corner and leaves.

As he walks home, he feels lighter. He doesn’t feel eyes on his back, or a presence over his shoulder. His head doesn’t feel dampened or stuffed full of cotton. His senses are sharp and normal. He doesn’t feel afraid. He smiles to himself, turning his face into the sun. Finally, he thinks, he can get back to living a normal life. He pulls out his phone and hops into his group chat with Pidge and Lance.

 **_Me:_ ** _Let’s go out tonight. I’m feeling better._

 **_Lance:_ ** _keith_

 **_Lance:_ ** _my buddy_

 **_Lance:_ ** _my dude_

 **_Lance:_ ** _you have blessed me this day_

 **_Pidge:_ ** _Keith, we’re home. I already punched him for you._

 **_Me:_ ** _Thanks, Katie._

 **_Lance:_ ** _A N Y W A Y_

 **_Lance:_ ** _there’s a party tonight at the epsilon house_

 **_Me:_ ** _When?_

 **_Lance:_ ** _eight but we’ll come get you first_

 **_Me:_ ** _Sounds good to me._

 **_Pidge:_ ** _You sure you’re good, Keithy Cat?_

 **_Me:_ ** _Gross._

 **_Me:_ ** _I’m fine._

Keith smiles and shoves his phone back in his pocket, clomping up the stairs to his apartment. He unlocks the door and pushes inside. It’s hot. Unusually so. Keith steps into the living room, and a sob tears itself from his throat.

There, in the center of the coffee table, rests the box.

Keith is decidedly not fine.

“Okay,” he shouts, gesturing around his empty apartment, “you wanna play it that way?! We’ll play it that way!”

He whirls around and stomps into the bedroom to change his clothes and get freshened up. He takes his time in putting on his makeup, he touches up the black polish on his nails, he puts on one fishnet top then changes his mind and swaps it for another. He changes his jewelry five times. He messes with his hair. He wastes a good few hours this way, pointedly ignoring the humming from his living room. He laces up his combat boots and throws his leather jacket over his shoulders. The whispers start up again, lilting latin and guttural sounds floating in under the door, but he feigns ignorance.

Before he knows it, a knock sounds at the door. Whirling around his bedroom, he scoops up one final necklace and throws it on before stomping through the apartment and straight outside to his waiting friends.

The music is pounding loud and heavy across the yard by the time the trio arrives at the Epsilon house. Kids are spread out all over the place, sloshing alcohol from solo cups and playing dumb drinking games. Keith rolls his eyes as he watches two frat guys try to lift a couple girls over their heads and do squats. He’s never much understood the peacocking that happens when a bunch of these dudes collect in one place. Then again, he’s never really understood much of the social cues of dating. He’s always been a much more straightforward type of person. If you feel it, you say it. It’s always worked out best for him.

He shakes his head and follows Pidge and Lance up the walk to the house.

“Lance! You came!”

Keith looks up just in time to watch Lance shit his entire nervous system out at the call of his name. The manager of the Garrison University soccer team, Allura, is waving them down and shoving through the crowd.

“I thought there was an ulterior motive here, and lookit that. I’m right,” Pidge whispers to Keith. He snorts and nods in agreement.

“Allura! Princess! You look as radiant as ever!” Lance shouts, scraping down into a deep, over exaggerated bow. Allura giggles and turns pink at his words.

“Oh, stop it, you flirt!” She tugs him up by the ear and shoves him through the throng in the living room. Right as they disappear into the crowd, she turns back over her shoulder. “Katie, Keith! It’s lovely to see you! Have fun tonight!”

“See ya, princess!” Pidge calls to her back. Keith smiles and waves half-heartedly, scanning the crowd for more familiar faces. He gets one in Hunk, a member of Pidge’s robotics team, lumbering up to them through the hallway.

“Hey, guys!” he calls over the heads of the kids between them. “Come back to the kitchen! I made snacks!”

Pidge loud laughs and tugs Keith in Hunk’s direction.

“Hunk, you don’t live here!”

“Okay, but there’s nothing anywhere about me not using the oven, soooo.”

It’s fair enough, Keith thinks, scooping up two mini-quiches and shoving them in his mouth. He moans in bliss as the buttery crust melts on his tongue.

“Tell me about it,” Pidge agrees, crumbs spraying from her mouth.

Hunk laughs and pats her back.

“The rest of the team is here, I thought we could hang out a while!”

Pidge looks at Keith guiltily, but he just waves her off.

“Pidge, it’s a party. There’s booze. I know some people. It’s fine.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him in doubt.

“What?! It is! I’ll be fine! Just go!”

He shoos her off and plunges deeper into the house, looking for the keg. He finds it on the back porch and sets about filling a cup for himself. He sprawls out on the lawn, sipping at the shitty beer and rubbing his thumb across the crystal necklace he doesn’t remember putting on. The pendant pulses under his touch, beating in time with his heart. He wants to scream, but he can’t make a scene, so he gets another beer instead.

Before he knows it, he’s drunk and stumbling through his door. He doesn’t remember _getting_ drunk, and he doesn’t remember how he got home, he just knows that the apartment is empty and darker than he left it, his skin is buzzing, and the book is open on his bed with the knife right next to it.

_Fuck it._

Keith stumbles to the bed, dragging the book to the edge. In his alcohol-addled state, he doesn’t notice that it’s already open to the proper page, or that the words suddenly make sense to him. All he knows is that it’s been torturing him for what feels like forever, and he needs it to stop. The only way it seems it will is if he does what it wants.

So he follows the instructions.

He drags the dagger across his palm just the way the book says to, opening a smooth gash to pour blood on the floor. He dips his fingers into the puddle and sets to work, angrily scrawling the summoning seal over the polished wood surface. He copies the book exactly, only staggering a few times around his lightheadedness. He squeezes more blood out and draws precise runes and sigils across the surface of his arms. His hand throbs in pain, but so too does his heart. Somewhere, back in the dampened corners of his self-preservation, he knows this is wrong. But the alcohol and paranoia, the frustration and anger, all of the things he’s felt in the past two weeks have overwhelmed him. The whispering and stilted sounds that so often followed him around his home or through the streets begin screaming when he angrily slams his bloody palm down on the edge of the seal. A heavy wind whips around the room, stirring papers and dirty clothes around the floor. The atmosphere changes, turning heavy and foreboding.

Keith leans forward, retching under the crushing energy, as he shouts the words scrawled in the book. With the final syllable, he drops his other hand to the seal. It bursts to life, spewing shafts of blinding golden light up into the air. The scent of sulfur fills his room, carried about by the dying winds crashing against the walls. The wind tightens into a tornado of thick, black smoke, twirling and writhing at the center of the summoning circle. The beams of golden light turn red, spearing the plumes like swords. Keith squints up into the mass of confusion as it coalesces into something more substantial, something huge. The smoke smooths out into the shape of a being, a hulking mass of ghostly red. Its eyes are caution light yellow, its legs cut off into formless red wisps. Atop its head, a flop of what must be hair obscures its forehead.

Keith’s breath goes still in his chest as the creature reaches a massive clawed hand out toward him.

“I have been eagerly awaiting your call, Keith.”

The world goes black.

 

+++

 

Keith awakens on the ground. It’s cold and smooth beneath him, made of obsidian and pulsing with a strange energy. His head is killing him and he sits up, groaning. Everything around him is made of the same glass; giant pillars and mounds of it extend into the sky. The landscape is nothing but rolling dunes of the stuff, stretched out as far as he can see.

“At last.”

Keith startles at the deep voice, whirling around violently to face it. Before him, lounging casually on a throne of the same material is the demon he summoned. Holy shit, he summoned a demon. _What the fuck were you doing?!_ he scolds himself.

“Summoning a demon,” the demon supplies helpfully.

“Fantastic,” Keith deadpans. The demon ignores him, standing from the chair and brushing nothing from his shoulders. Keith balks at the size of him. He’s easily a good eight feet tall, his shoulders are broad and thickly muscled, hell, one of his hands...claws? Whatever, one of them is the size of Keith’s head. He could crush Keith like a grape.

“My deepest gratitude, Keith. That is very kind of you to notice.”

_What the fuck._

“What the fuck.”

“I suppose I should explain.”

“Yeah, that’d be pretty great,” Keith grouses, dragging himself up from the ground. Look, he knows when he’s at a disadvantage. He’s definitely at one now. But he’ll be damned if he goes down without a fight.

“In the interest of honesty, Keith, you are damned either way.”

“ _What._ ”

“Keith,” the demon sighs. “Let us start from the beginning, shall we?”

“That’s typically how things work,” Keith snaps, ignoring - once again - his survival instincts. Surprisingly, the demon smiles indulgently down at him, revealing rows of sharp, canine teeth. They glisten with saliva, and Keith wonders if demons are venomous.

“I, particularly, am not. Although, if that is a trait you admire, perhaps we could find a way…”

The demon trails off in thought, and Keith is left stricken. He clutches at his chest for stability, only to find his hand wrapping around the amethyst pendant.

“First things first,” he demands, “you tell me how you can hear inside my head.”

The demon’s brows raise high, and if Keith could tell the difference around the bright yellow sclera, he would swear it rolls its eyes at him.

“I am not an ‘it’, Keith, thank you very much. I can hear you, because, as you have sussed out, I am a demon.”

Demon powers. Of course.

“Of course,” it-

“He, if you please.”

-ah, _he_ affirms. Keith moves on to his next question.

“Why am I here?”

“I have had my eye on you for some time now, Keith Kogane,” he answers, stepping forward on new, solid legs. “You are not like other mortals. Of course, I am sure you have taken notice of this.”

Keith looks down at himself, scoffing. He gestures to his outfit, a long sweep of his arm.

“Of course I’ve noticed.”

The demon huffs a rumbling laugh.

“Not in appearance. In composition.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What, indeed.”

They stare each other down for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. The demon looks serene, patiently standing before Keith. Keith’s mind is reeling, sending him tripping over his panicked thoughts and emotions. He needs to find a way out of here, wherever _here_ is, and fast.

“Come now, Keith. You know where you are. The landscape and atmosphere are charged with it. You can feel it. You know the truth.”

Keith is fairly certain he does, but he just can’t bring himself to acknowledge it. If he does, it makes it true. It makes it _real_. He doesn’t know if he can handle it.

“You are easily able to summon a demon, but cannot handle being brought to hell? That is a very interesting outlook.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Keith whispers, pained. He drags his hands through his hair, linking trembling fingers at the back of his neck.

“Well, I am not your god, to be certain. But you shall be my queen.”

Keith drops his hands in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“As I have been saying, I have been watching you for some time, Keith. I require a queen and I desire you. I intend to make you mine. Now, how we go about that, of course, is a fair bit more elastic. The end results will remain the same, however.”

“I’m not your fucking _queen_.”

“Not now, but you will be. But please, allow me to introduce myself first. I am Tor’annoth Sthrathundir. I go by Takashi Shirogane topside, though. Most call me Shiro. It suits the purpose.”

“Shiro,” Keith repeats dumbly. “A demon named Shiro.”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“Quite. Introductions aside, I have been tracking you for some time now, Keith. It has taken me months to hook you, do you realize?”

“ _Hook_ me? What are you talking about?!”

The demon, _Shiro_ , his mind unhelpfully reminds him, steps forward, leaning down into Keith’s space. He drags long claws lightly down his jaw and settles them beneath his chin, raising his face to meet glowing eyes.

“Did you think this all happened overnight? First, I had to find you, dear one. That was a challenge of itself. You are a rare bird, as they say. Tracking your signature was difficult. And once I did, I knew I could never just bump into you on the street. That would not be enough with one like you. No, I needed to make you come to me.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Keith grunts, jerking his head out of the demon’s touch.

“Well, typically, I could influence you. I tried for a long time. But I failed. Nothing could draw you. You are strong-willed, Keith Kogane. Hard headed. I like that about you.” Shiro smirks at Keith. “ You are exquisitely beautiful, as well.”

“Fuck off,” Keith grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Especially when defiant,” the demon coos. “But, you are also resistant to my usual advances. I needed something stronger. Something that would appeal to your nature. That is where the book came in. Normally, we can influence and kidnap, and that is enough. But not for someone like you. You require a lighter hand, more freedom. So, I simply dropped the summoning kit in your path. You took it from there.”

“I didn’t want it.”

“Yes, I saw that. But you must admit, it really did not take much to convince you to use it anyway. A little whispering, a nice party, some alcohol. You become incredibly pliant when you have imbibed, Keith. That can be a dangerous trait.”

“Okay, that's disgusting. And I can take care of myself,” Keith argues. “Besides, that doesn’t matter, because you still _forced me down here!_ You think that I ever would have found that book and done that ceremony on my own?! Bullshit.”

Shiro steps forward again, bending down to look Keith in the eye.

“You are a fiery one, Keith. It is part of what makes you so charming.”

“I don’t _want_ to be charming. I want to be home.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Shiro answers, straightening up, “you still performed the ceremony.”

“Which means?” Keith asks cautiously.

“Which means that, no matter what, you are still bound to me. Until the contract between us is met, you are stuck with my presence. At least give me the opportunity to prove my worth to you. Let me bless you, Keith.”

“Absolutely not,” Keith answers, staggering backward. “I don’t even know what that means, but I know I don’t like it. No way.”

“Fine,” Shiro grits in annoyance. “I suppose I will have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“Wh-what?”

“I could trap you here,” Shiro starts, a plume of grey smoke emerging from nowhere and creeping up his legs. “I could force your submission to me.”

The smoke continues to climb, wrapping gently around his red limbs and knitting across his chest. His words strike fear deep in Keith’s heart.

“I will not do that. I have seen inside you, Keith. I have seen the very heart of you. I know your dreams and goals. I will prove my intentions and dedication to you.”

The smoke engulfs Shiro’s body, swirling and opaque. It whirls in place for endless minutes until finally, it falls away and in its wake stands a man. A beautiful man. A _gorgeous_ man. Keith’s actual, literal, picture-perfect, ideal man. Where once a mountain of red flesh and claws stood, there is now nothing more than six feet of tanned skin and soft grey eyes. There’s a scar across his nose and a white shock of hair flopping over his forehead, but nothing else to suggest his true nature. Keith’s knees go weak with it. Human Shiro takes confident steps forward, pressing in until his lips are level with Keith’s ear. He circles a broad arm around Keith’s waist, tugging him in flush against a rock hard chest. Keith’s eyelids flutter shut.

“I’m going to court you, Keith. I’ll make you mine.”

A howling wind whips up again and Keith opens his eyes in his bedroom.

 

+++

 

Tuesday morning sees Keith sitting at his desk in a daze. His mind has been foggy ever since he returned from the underworld, the promise of a demon on a mission to win him over weighing heavy on his shoulders. He doesn’t notice Pidge slide into the desk beside him until she nudges him with her elbow to get his attention.

“Hey, space cadet. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Keith lies. “Just tired.”

Pidge doesn’t believe him, he can tell. Her suspicion is written all over her face. Still, she lets it go and changes the conversation for his sake. He appreciates it because he still doesn’t know how he could ever explain his current position.

“So,” she says casually, “you hear we’re getting a new prof?”

Keith startles, a sense of foreboding flooding through him.

“Why? The semester’s almost over.”

“See, this is why you should check your email more often. Haggar sent out an email Sunday, something about a family emergency. We’re going to have an adjunct in charge for the rest of the season. Professor...S-something-or-other.”

Doom falls around Keith’s shoulders.

“Professor Shirogane?” he croaks.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Pidge confirms, snapping in approval. “Wait, how’d you know?”

“A hunch.”

She raises her eyebrow but doesn’t get to ask, because right as she opens her mouth, their new professor sweeps into the room. All chatter dies as he strides to the desk on confident legs. He sets his bag down in the chair and turns to regard the class, a warm smile painted across his lips. He makes eye contact with Keith, and his eyes sparkle, his smile broadening.

“Good morning, class. I’m adjunct Professor Shirogane. I’ll be taking over for Professor Haggar while she takes care of some personal business. I know it’s kind of late in the semester, but hopefully, I can still get you through everything.”

A few giggles rise up from the back of the lecture hall and Keith rolls his eyes.

“Okay, then,” Shiro says, clapping his (decidedly human) hands together, “why don’t we spend a little time backtracking so I can make sure we have a seamless transition, and then we’ll get to work, yeah?”

Keith is thrown by the change in his speech patterns. He’s less formal and more relaxed. He doesn’t sound so much like a traveler from the eighteen-hundreds. Rather, it seems he’s adapted himself to modern vernacular. Keith squints his eyes at him across his desk. Shiro shoots him another secret smile and gets down to business asking about their last test.

It comes as no surprise to Keith that Professor Shirogane is the hot new body on campus. He can’t go anywhere without hearing about him. It’s fucking insane, honestly. He can’t stand it. Fortunately, he only has three classes on Tuesdays, so after his third, he heads off to the library for some much-needed silence.

“Keith,” a deep voice rumbles from above his head. Keith doesn’t even have to look to know who it is. Shiro drops a bag into a chair across the table from Keith and slips into the seat beside it. “How are you today, beloved?”

“Don’t call me that,” Keith hisses, cutting his eyes around the room to make sure nobody heard.

“But why ever not? It’s what you are to me.”

“Well, it’s not what _you_ are to _me_.”

“Not yet,” Shiro states calmly, gathering his bag and standing. “I’ll see you this evening.”

Shiro strolls casually out of the library, leaving a stunned Keith in his wake. It’s not until he ambles out of sight that Keith registers his words.

“Wait, _this evening?_ ”

Keith finds out what he means the moment he steps through his threshold to find the demon sprawled on his couch, humming a tune to himself. He’s still in human form, but he’s let a few edges slip. His fingers end in their sharp claws, and as Keith steps into the room, his eyes snap open, focusing gleaming yellow points directly through him. Keith sighs, dropping his bag to the floor.

“Why are you here?”

“Well, seeing as how I don’t technically have a residence in this realm, I assumed I could simply stay with my contracted,” Shiro drawls.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” Keith snaps. “You can’t stay here.”

“Hmm, I have a soul contract that speaks otherwise, Keith.”

Shiro quirks an eyebrow at him in triumph, and Keith knows he’s outmatched. He sighs again, wandering into the kitchen for a drink.

“Fine, whatever. Just stay out of my way.”

Clawed fingers trail across his lower back, rucking up his shirt and sending shivers crawling along his spine.

“I can’t do that, darling,” Shiro answers low. “I can’t court you without your involvement, you see.”

The demon spins Keith around, and he finds himself trapped, body locked beneath his golden gaze. Briefly, he contemplates the position he’s found himself in. Keith has always been a little different. He’s always found himself interested in things that most people may not be. Even from a young age, he found darker topics more compelling to learn about. It’s not like he tries to be edgy or anything, he just likes what he likes.

But this, being confronted by an actual demon from actual hell, is a lot for him to handle. He’s read extensively about the occult and the supernatural. He’s always thought it fascinating. Now, however, he finds himself on a precipice. Faced directly with something he only ever considered to be something of a fairy tale, he isn’t sure what to do. Technically, he brought this upon himself.

 _Keith_ was the one who took possession of the book.

 _Keith_ was the one who got frustrated.

 _Keith_ was the one who got drunk and summoned a literal demon.

No matter the forces that nudged his hand, he still gave in.

And isn’t it just convenient that the demon he summoned is a perfect vision? Isn’t it fantastic that he can read right into Keith’s head so that he can’t hide anywhere? Isn’t it just hilarious that Keith finds himself attracted to the demon even though he knows he shouldn’t be?

Just. The funniest.

And really, Keith almost wonders if he should have seen this coming. He, incapable of holding a steady relationship. He, unable to totally align with very many people. He, who dresses a little darkly and carries himself with a serious expression. He _would_ be destined to have some sort of Lord of the underworld chasing after him, just waiting to trap him.

“You should take it as a compliment, really,”  Shiro comments lightly. “I wouldn’t simply choose anyone. You are special, Keith. One of a kind. And I would only elevate you. Contrary to popular belief, demons do have morals. I would never force you into anything that you were not in agreement with.”

Well, that’s interesting. A demon with a heart of gold. Keith snorts at the thought.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, effectively cutting off any more input from Shiro. “You can sleep on the couch. If you even sleep. What the fuck do I know, honestly?”

Shiro smiles.

“I rest.”

“Great,” Keith deadpans. “Just stay out of my room.”

With that, he grabs a glass of water and scurries off to shut himself in his final place of reprieve.

Shiro is gone in the morning and Keith breathes a sigh, a little confused and a lot relieved.

Weeks pass, and Shiro falls into place among the residents of the University. They all respect and revere him. Most of them would die to touch his muscles. Still, Shiro often finds excuses to catch up with Keith or ask him to see him in his office. He finds reasons to be wherever Keith happens to be. It doesn’t escape the notice of the student body at large.

This is problematic for multiple reasons. Keith has always kept a fairly low profile on campus. Go to class, go to the library, go to work, go home. It’s a good schedule and it keeps him out of trouble. Now, however, rumors fly about his involvement with the hot new professor on campus.

Who is he to Shiro? Do they have a relationship going on? Is that really appropriate? Why him?

He hears it in whispers and sees it in eyes that follow him wherever he goes. He feels it as a spotlight over his head every time he walks into his Engineering class and Shiro smiles at him across the room. The worst thing about it, the thing that makes him hate himself the most? He _likes_ it. He likes the attention from Shiro. He feels a little special every time the man focuses on him and nobody else. He can’t help it.

Spending time with the demon is something he can’t avoid, especially when he can just...show up. Whenever. Wherever. Keith has had to set ground rules. Walking into his bathroom to take a shit in the middle of the night only to find Shiro perched on the counter was enough to send him to the morgue. It was also the last straw. _Keith, I want everything to do with you,_ he claimed, _surely knowing your habits is important?_ Keith had never in his life wanted to punch someone in the face so badly.

But now, he’s gotten to _know_ the guy. Not just as a demon or as a demon masquerading as a mortal, but as his own being. He loves dogs ( _Ours are different downstairs, of course_ ), he loves his mother ( _She birthed me from the ash of a dying world_ ), his favorite color is red ( _It shines the brightest to me_ ).

Keith is fairly certain he would never need to say anything at all for Shiro to know everything about him, but still, the demon indulges him every time he opens his mouth to share a new piece of himself. He listened intently when Keith told him about the loss of his parents ( _It is one of life’s greatest tragedies to lose the first ones you ever love_ ). He sympathized when Keith described growing up in the system ( _A child should never be forced to learn the lessons of life so soon_ ). He smiled with amusement and teased when Keith told him all about why he wears makeup ( _I admire your skill in application_ ).

It softens Keith up to him terribly, and he’s unsure how to feel about it, exactly.

“I know how I feel about it,” Shiro says, appearing suddenly at Keith’s side. Keith curses loud and jumps up from his seat.

“And how is that?” he demands.

“I am honored, Keith Kogane.”

 

+++

 

 **_Pidge:_ ** _We need to talk._

 **_Lance:_ ** _boooyyyy, ur in trouble DEEP_

 **_Me:_ ** _Why?_

 **_Me:_ ** _What did I do?_

 **_Pidge:_ ** _Coffee shop. Today. 5 pm._

 **_Pidge:_ ** _Don’t you dare try to worm out of it._

 **_Lance:_ ** _BOYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!_

Keith doesn’t know what he’s done, but he knows it’s bad. He doesn’t think he’s forgotten anything important. He knows everyone’s birthdays by heart, and none of them have passed. He knows he hasn’t broken any promises recently. Hell, the three of them went out to dinner last week, so he hasn’t been neglecting them.

So what did he do?

At five o’clock on the dot, Keith marches into the coffee shop to meet his fate. Pidge and Lance are already seated at their usual table, three cups of coffee sitting between them. Keith knows it’s serious. They never have his coffee waiting unless they need to talk about something important.

_Shit._

Either way, he’s going to have to face the music. He straightens his spine and marches across the seating area, plopping down into the seat next to Pidge. Lance’s mouth curls into a sardonic smirk. Pidge’s eyebrows scrunch beneath her glasses.

“Buddy,” Lance drawls, “you are in _so._ _much._ _trouble_.”

“I don’t even know what I did,” Keith answers, bouncing his eyes between them. “What did I do?”

Lance snorts.

“ _Who_ , more like.”

“...What?” Keith asks slowly. He sees it now, where this is headed. He should have predicted it, really. The rumors have been swift and merciless. Of course, if talk has gotten around campus, it would surely find his best friends. Pidge’s mouth twitches and he steels his nerves.

“What’s going on between you and Professor Shirogane?”

Boom goes the dynamite.

He can’t be honest, that much he knows for certain. Firstly, he doesn’t know that they would believe him. If it were him hearing the story, _he_ wouldn’t believe him. Secondly, he still hasn’t totally come around to what’s going on between them. They’re familiar in a way that he only is with a few people. Keith is ridiculously attracted to him. He’s a demon. Keith still can’t quite admit to catching feelings for a demon, and, as far as anybody else is concerned, a relative stranger.

“Nothing,” he answers evenly. Technically, it’s not a lie. Nothing _is_ going on between them, no matter how much Keith can feel them slowly creeping there.

“That sounds like a lie, Keith,” Pidge answers him. “I’ve seen how often you two talk.”

“Look, I know,” Keith answers, “but I swear I’m telling the truth. We’re friendly, but there’s nothing going on.”

“Hmmm,” she replies, raising an eyebrow and taking a measured sip of her coffee. Lance stares between them. The good thing about him, in Keith’s opinion, is that he’s always been a little dense to his surroundings. He’s whip-smart and loyal to the end, but it takes him a little longer to pick up on environmental signals. He’s blissfully oblivious most times, and this is one that Keith appreciates. They sit in silence, which is fine with Keith. He squirms in his seat under Pidge’s attention, but he knows if he waits a few minutes, her mood will slip away.

Suddenly, Lance snaps up to attention in his seat.

“Well, speak of the devil,” he whispers, wiggling his eyebrows like a goddamn asshole. A large hand comes to rest on the seatback of the chair beside Lance, and Keith flinches.

“Would you three mind if I sit with you? Everywhere else is full, so,” and of course it’s Shiro. Why wouldn’t it be? What a dick, honestly. Shiro chuckles quietly beside him. Keith really wishes he’d stop with the mind reading stuff. And the manipulating circumstances stuff. And just...stuff. Shiro laughs again but turns it into a cough.

“Sure, you can pop a squat, Professor,” Pidge answers, keeping her eyes on Keith. They narrow at him in suspicion, but he just continues to stare straight ahead. Keith isn’t a great liar, but he _is_ great at avoidance.

“Thank you, Katie. Great job on that discussion board, by the way. You made some very salient observations.”

“Thank you so much!” she chirps, launching into her thoughts on their latest research assignment. Shiro listens attentively, but every now and then, his eyes trail over to Keith. If Pidge notices, she says nothing, but Lance. Lance is a different sort of beast.

A foot nudges Keith’s ankle, and he looks up to find Lance smirking at him. He drops a wink between them and Keith huffs, turning to look back out of the window. He’s no longer actively engaged with the table at large, but he can feel Shiro’s attention on him.

“Keith, what are your thoughts?” Shiro asks, pulling Keith out of his pouting.

“On what?” he asks.

“Oh, you know. Life, the universe, everything,” Shiro says with amusement.

“It’s all bullshit,” KeiI said with a smirk. Pidge snorts into her coffee and Lance’s mouth drops open. Shiro, to his credit, bursts out laughing.

“Fair enough. Well, you three, thank you very much for letting me sit with you. I think I’m gonna head home for the night. Maybe spend some quality time with some papers.”

With that, he takes his leave, random patron’s eyes swiveling after him as he pushes through the front door. Lance and Pidge watch as he disappears over the horizon. The very moment he fades from view, they turn on Keith.

“Alright, you fuckin’ liar, tell us the truth,” Pidge demands, poking a finger in his face.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Keith answers, pushing her finger back down.

“Keith. My friend. My Bro. My Brogane,” Lance pleads. “Teachers and students don’t look at each other the way you two just did.”

“We weren’t looking at each other any sort of way.”

“Oh, please!” Pidge butts in. “You two were dripping goo goo eyes all over the table.”

“Yeah!” Lance agrees. “And I’ve never had a teacher hang all on my words like that. Have you, Pidge?”

“Hell no, I haven’t.”

“So then it’s settled!” Lance announces, slamming his palms down on the table. “You two have something going on.”

“You guys, seriously. We don’t. I promise you.”

It’s Lance’s turn to narrow eyes at Keith.

“But you want to.”

And there it is. The ugly truth Keith has been trying to ignore. Shiro is a demon. A _demon_. But, Shiro is undeniably hot. Shiro essentially tricked Keith into opening a blood contract with him. But, Shiro is undeniably exactly Keith’s type. Shiro wants to drag Keith straight to hell and rule over...something together. He isn’t even sure what. But, Shiro also wants Keith for what he is, without question.

Keith wants him.

Keith wants him so bad.

It strikes him like a bolt of lightning, burning through his veins and scorching his nerves.

“...Yeah.”

“Then what the fuck are you even _doing_ , mullet boy?!” Lance shouts. “Go get that hot teacher dick!”

“Gross.”

“Okay, yeah, that was gross,” Pidge adds. “But he’s not wrong. That man wants you, Keith.”

 _Man_. Keith snorts.

“Go get him, loverboy,” Lance says with finality. “Or let him get you. Whatever.”

“Whatever,” Pidge agrees.

“Whatever,” Keith says, standing up. “I’m going home.”

“Sure you are,” Lance answers, waggling his eyebrows with a shit-eating grin.

Keith turns on a heel and stomps out of the coffee shop. He turns in the direction of home and shoves his hands in his pockets. Really, it’s about time for him to figure out what to do about Shiro. He can’t live his entire life with a demon trailing after him. Although, all things considered, he doesn’t mind having Shiro trailing after him. He _really_ doesn’t mind.

He wants it.

He wants it a lot. But if he’s going to give in, he needs answers. He needs to know what the contract he opened means. He needs to know what’s going to happen to him. He needs to know specifics. But first, he just needs to get home.

Keith turns down his street, and immediately, something feels different. It feels...off. The air weighs heavy and loaded. He makes his way up the stairs, and the feeling only intensifies the closer he gets to his front door. It’s not foreboding. If anything, it’s like its own type of magnetism. It’s thick and tangible, reaching out to him on the air and beckoning him closer.

He slides his key in the lock, and static electricity shoots up his arm. He turns it and the static spreads out across his arm. He withdraws his key and turns the knob, stepping through the door. Keith crosses the threshold into a darkened apartment. The air buzzes inside, like a living being all its own. Holding his breath, Keith snaps the door closed behind him. He turns around to walk into his living room, but before he can lift a foot, Shiro is there.

Shiro, in full demon form. A hulking red mass of energy and flesh barreling straight for Keith. He lunges forward, shoving Keith back against the door, pinning him to the surface. Two clawed hands cage Keith’s head, and the demon leans forward, breathing heavy on Keith’s face.

“You want me.”

He says it like a revelation. He says it like a prayer. He says it like it’s the only truth he needs in this or any life. Keith’s knees go weak with the reverence in his tone.

“Yes,” Keith affirms.

“You have reservations,” Shiro notes, cocking his head like an overgrown spaniel.

“Yes.”

“May I show you something?” Shiro asks, straightening to his full height and offering a hand to Keith. Keith gingerly lays his own in the demon’s palm, allowing himself to be guided to the living room.

“You’re going to anyway,” Keith answers.

“No. This is part is entirely at your discretion,” Shiro answers, and through the skin and teeth and eyes, he looks so sincere. He looks so honest.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not at all.”

“Then fine.”

Shiro smiles, glinting white points in the dark, and lays a hand against Keith’s face. He strokes across his cheekbone and down his jaw with a long, pointed thumb. Suddenly, he grips Keith’s chin, gently opening his mouth. Leaning forward, he parts his own lips and breathes heavy, a long gust of breath from his lungs to Keith. Hot, red smoke pours from his mouth and curls past Keith’s teeth. It winds down his throat, sweet and cloying, but not painful. Keith can feel it filling his lungs, expanding to fit every curve and cilia. It worms through his veins and coats his nerves. He can see it in his mind’s eye, crawling up his spine and across his brainstem.

His mind goes blank.

Suddenly, he sees it. Right in the center, a brilliant point of light. From the light, billowing outward, a scene unfolds. It’s a bright spring day. Keith sees himself wandering through the city. He looks...different, filtered almost. His angles seem more graceful than sharp. His skin seems to glow. His hair looks artfully mussed rather than hopelessly shoved out of the way. His clothes look purposeful and right on his frame. He looks like himself, only-

“Beautiful,” Shiro’s voice rumbles overhead. “This is how you appear to me.”

Keith watches himself pull out his cellphone and glance at the screen. He laughs and it sounds like bells, tinkling and light. His face lights up, expressive and open. He shimmers in the sun, a spectral kind of beauty Keith's never witnessed before. He watches himself as he blows a stray strand of hair out of his eyes and types a message, carelessly shoving the phone back in his pocket when he’s done. He turns a corner, disappearing into a coffee shop, and the scene melts away.

“You’re the only thing I see,” Shiro says, hands crossed behind his back.

“I don’t understand,” Keith admits.

“Mmm, perhaps not. Let’s see something else, then.”

A new scene takes shape before them. Keith holding a kitten, staring defiantly into the eyes of a stranger. Keith remembers this day. He’d stumbled upon the stray in an alley on his way to the drugstore. A man had cornered it with a brick in his hand. Keith didn’t need to be told to understand what was happening.

He watches himself step forward, yelling at the man. His eyes are fire and his shoulders squared. The air around him wavers with the power of his anger.

“For all the world, you would protect that animal with your life. This frail creature, with no guarantee of survival.”

“It’s what anyone would do,” Keith says.

“No. It is not.”

The scene fades, immediately replaced by a new, more recent one. Keith watches Shiro address another version of himself. A version who had just come to in literal hell to find the demon casually draped across an obsidian throne.

He watches Shiro explain his circumstances. At every turn, Keith is angry, argumentative, flippant. His words are knives, edges honed to deadly precision, and still, Shiro softens for him.

“You awoke on the floors of hell to be greeted by a demon who coerced you into summoning him. You were not afraid of me. Instead, you were defiant. You did not bend to me. You did not bow and scrape and beg for mercy. Instead, you proved that it was I who should have bent a knee.”

The memory flutters away and a new surrounding appears. It’s nothing Keith has seen yet, nowhere he has been. A bedroom at the top of a building, gleaming and white. The floors are a polished marble, the dark wooden furniture hand carved and well cared for, delicate french doors opened to a balcony with billowing curtains flowing in the afternoon breeze.

Shiro kneels before him, the picture of supplication. He looks up at Keith, red skin shining in the bright surroundings. His lips part around his pointed teeth. His hands are open and upturned on his knees, palms facing the heavens. His nostrils flare with his breaths.

“I would bend a thousand knees for you, Keith. You are meant for me. You are precious. You need only snap your fingers and I would jump at your request. This is my solemn vow to you. You are special in every way and should be elevated above all others.”

Keith stops breathing. His lungs constrict painfully around Shiro’s words, tightening with the honesty in his tone.

“Is that the truth?” he asks, choking on his words.

“Of course it is.” Shiro reaches out, settling large hands over Keith’s hips. His bones burn under the touch, a hot wave of desire flashing through him. “Let me show you. Let me show you how I’d worship you.”

Shiro’s fingers curl around Keith’s sides, long nails scratching ever so lightly at his skin through his clothes. They leave trails of tingles in their wake, spreading out across his skin. He reaches out, settling a hand against the demon’s jaw. Shiro’s eyes slide closed as he leans into the touch.

Keith is blinded, suddenly, by the feeling of devotion Shiro emanates. It pours off of him in waves, striking Keith square in the chest, sinking straight to the core of him. He takes a deep breath.

“Okay.”

Shiro’s eyes snap open, blazing with heat and determination. He stands from the floor, scooping Keith up as he goes, throwing him over a broad shoulder as he marches to the bed. He sets Keith gently down on the edge, peeling his shirt up over his head and tossing it off to the side.

He's human again, and extremely naked when the fabric pulls past Keith's eyes. All but his sparking yellow gaze and sharp-clawed hands. His dick is impressive, if not strange. Keith can't help but stare at it for a second. It's long and thick, with a single corkscrew ridge coiling up the shift. In the spaces between the ridge lay small nodules. The head comes to a sharp taper, much more pointed than a human.

“Be lucky, Keith Kogane. Some of us are barbed.”

_Jesus._

Shiro leans forward and drops a chaste kiss to Keith’s mouth. It’s nothing, barely a second’s worth of contact, but it knocks his world off axis. Shiro drops to his knees again. He bends forward, sucking kisses down Keith’s jaw and chest, mouthing sloppy trails across his skin. Keith shudders as the saliva dries, gulping deep breaths to steady himself. A forked tongue peeks out from parted lips and circles Keith’s nipple, pulling a low groan from his throat.

Shiro draws back, settling his head on Keith’s knee to smile up at him. The points of his teeth poke out over his lips, and Keith can’t help but to look at them and think _adorable_. Shiro’s smile widens.

“I’m going to take proper care of you, Keith.”

In one swift motion, he unzips and tugs off Keith’s jeans and underwear. Shiro stands and leans over Keith, nudging him back on the plush bed. He crawls up Keith's body, straddling his hips with clawed hands splayed across his chest.

“Can I show you what I have to offer, beloved?”

“God, _please_.”

Shiro smiles and leans down to kiss Keith properly. His lips are soft and pillowy against Keith's mouth, and gentle in their work. He deepens the kiss, sucking on Keith's lower lip. His tongue sneaks into Keith's mouth, licking his teeth and sweeping around his gums. As their mouths find their rhythm, Keith feels something odd between their bodies, stirring at his groin. He makes a confused sound, but Shiro shushes him.

“I'm a demon, Keith.”

The thing between them slithers up Keith's thigh, hot and thick, a wriggling cord.

“We shapeshift to suit our needs.”

The cord teases at Keith, fluttering along his shaft, coaxing him to hardness. It wraps itself lightly around him and tugs gently. A shock of pleasure punches the air from Keith's chest. Shiro smirks down at him, dragging a clawed hand down Keith's side.

“Would you like to see?”

Shiro props himself up so Keith can look down between them, and sure enough, there it is, long and coiled around him.

“Demon dick,” he mutters.

Shiro snorts, tightening the grip on Keith and tugging at him again. Keith slams his head back down on the mattress, whining at his ministrations.

“Demon dick,” Shiro confirms. He leans back down to whisper in Keith's ear. “That's not all it can do.”

With a final, slow caress, Shiro's dick loosens its grip, unfurling and releasing Keith's throbbing erection. Shiro mouths at Keith's jaw as the head of his dick trails away from Keith's own, tracing a wet path down past his balls to nudge between his ass cheeks. Shiro reaches down to spread Keith's legs further open. The moisture intensifies as his member moves, pooling and running between Keith's cheeks.

“I'm a self-lubricating sort of guy. I hope you don't mind.”

The head of his dick circles Keith’s entrance, dripping hot slick across the surface. It's precise and methodical, slowly circling and prodding him. It nudges and teases, catching at his rim and sending sparks across his nerves, only to dance away again. Shiro keeps up the teasing, playing with Keith's patience and watching him squirm until Keith can't take it anymore.

“Shiro, _please_.”

Shiro draws back to look at him. His eyes burn with desire, his jaw clenched.

“As you wish.”

Shiro's dick breaches Keith. It's thinner now than when he saw it, roughly the width of a finger. It wriggles and teases at Keith’s walls as it pushes in, oozing more hot slick inside of him. Keith feels himself relax around it, sighing in pleasure.

Shiro shifts above him, and inside of Keith, his dick expertly flicks against his walls, dragging across his prostate. Keith moans loud, biting a knuckle to stifle himself. Shiro clicks his tongue and pulls Keith's hand away.

“There's nobody else here. Stop silencing yourself.”

His dick withdraws and pushes back in, thicker now. It drags deliciously against Keith, sending his head spinning. Shiro pulls out again, thickening once more as his dick shoves itself back in. Keith can feel the texture of the modules and ridges rubbing against his walls and he mewls at the thought of it, a low desperate sound.

“Alright, little one. I'm taking control now.”

Shiro slides strong arms under Keith's torso and lifts him up. He settles down on the bed and positions Keith on his lap, straddling thick, muscled thighs. Immediately, he drives his dick up and back inside of Keith.

Keith shouts, throwing his arms around Shiro's neck. Shiro fucks up into Keith, snapping hips and snarling in his ear. His dick balloons out again, the ridges dragging harder and tighter along Keith's insides.

“You feel so good around me, Keith. Like you were made to be with me. You feel like I was created just to fuck you.”

The low rumble of Shiro's voice courses through Keith in a hot wave. Shiro shifts him around in his lap, driving the head of his dick back up into Keith's sweet spot. Keith cries out over drooling lips and Shiro swallows it, latching on to Keith's mouth with his own. His kisses are heavy and insistent, broken only by the force of his hips snapping upward.

“I'm going to mate you every day, beloved. I'll fill you with my seed so everyone can _smell it_ on you. So that they can smell how you belong to me.”

Shiro's hips snap viciously against Keith, their motions and Shiro's words sending him tumbling further and further toward the edge.

“You would like that, wouldn't you? Striking, independent man brought to heel at the end of a demon’s cock.”

“Oh my god. Holy shit,” Keith breathes, air punching out of him in harsh breaths. “What the fuck.”

Shiro grabs Keith by the hips and spins his body, slamming him face down on the bed. He pulls him up to rest on hand and knees, drawing up behind him to settle between his legs once more. He fucks back into Keith in one smooth thrust and Keith's vision goes white. Shiro wraps a clawed hand gently around Keith's throat, pulling him up against his chest, setting a brutal pace with his hips.

“You're so wet for me, Keith.”

His free hand drops to Keith's neglected cock, wiping up the pre-come dripping from him and raising glistening fingers to inspect them. He brings them to his mouth and sucks the moisture off, drawing the digits out with a slick pop. Shiro lowers both hands to dig nails into Keith's hips. His lips brush the shell of his ear as he leans down to whisper to him.

“If just this sends you so sloppy, imagine what I could do in my true form.”

He strikes Keith perfectly in the prostate once more, and Keith comes with blinding force. He feels himself clamp down around Shiro, the demon thrusting harshly a few more times before reaching his own release with a room-shaking growl.

Keith comes to on the couch, chest heaving and eyes blurred. Shiro hovers just in front of him, looking smugly pleased with himself.

“Be my queen.”

Keith tugs him forward by the hair, smashing their mouths together.

“I’m not your fucking _queen_.”

Shiro smirks and lays a hand against Keith's chest, engulfing him in flame and smoke.


	2. arcadia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all_ready_for_this.mp3

Keith resurfaces in the dark. He’s comfortable, wherever he is, and warm. As his eyes adjust to the low light of the room, he sits up, taking stock of himself. His hands sink into plush softness beneath him, and looking up, he realizes he’s in a bed. It’s an ornate four-poster, all hand-carved wood and shining lacquer. It’s oddly familiar, but he can’t quite place where he’s seen it before. He’s buried beneath downy blankets, nestled in feather pillows, and as he shifts around, he realizes there’s something else surrounding him. Something silken and slippery against his skin.

Noise outside grabs Keith’s attention and he slips out from under the covers. His feet land on warm, thick carpeting, and as he fully stands, the silky feeling follows him. Straightening to his full height, the thin fabric falls loosely around his legs, brushing softly around his ankles. He runs fingers down the material, calloused skin of his palms catching at the delicate fibers. It’s real silk, this much he can tell, in a deep color of some sort. Spinning his torso to look around himself, he takes in the cut and drape of it. _It’s a fucking toga._ Tied delicately over his shoulders and dipping low at the small of his back, the fabric gathers and swishes just right with each movement of his body.

It’s hardly the weirdest way he’s woken up.

The noise continues on outside the room; banging, shouting, and heavy footsteps rushing by the door. Gathering his courage, Keith takes a deep breath and walks to it, settling a hand down on the ornate silver handle. It’s cold and bulky in his grip, carved just as intricately as the bed. He turns it silently and cracks open the door. Poking his head through the opening, he finds a massive hallway. Much like the details he could make out in the room, it drips with wealth and status.

The walls are covered in heavily detailed paper. Each window is draped in crimson velvet, heavy and stately, but clean and well-staged. The floor is a dark, gleaming marble. It shines with effort, mirror-like in its finish. Keith bends over and sees himself in it. He looks different in his reflection. He’s softer and warmer looking. His face has been scrubbed clean, his hair done up in intricate braids that crown his head with small wisps of strands escaping their confines. It’s a little messy but artful in a way that Keith never sees himself. He trails his eyes further down his body to take in the cloth draped over him. It’s a jet black silk, woven with gleaming golden threads that twinkle in the lantern lights of the hall. A swath of red is gathered artfully over top, draped over one shoulder and pinned around his hip like a sash. Keith snaps back upright in a daze, stunned by how sophisticated and ethereal he looks.

Servants of some sort scurry by, carrying heavy-laden trays and chests down the hall. They’re all dressed in crisp outfits, although they’re unlike anything he’s ever seen before; the people _and_ the clothes. This is his first inclination of where he is, although he doesn’t find himself all that surprised. Creatures of all shapes and sizes charge by, solely focused on their tasks, ignoring his presence altogether. Every now and again, one of them will catch him with their eyes, but just as quickly, they avert their gaze and skitter off in another direction.

_Interesting._

Keith sighs to himself and wanders down the hallway. The place is palatial and foreign, so he has to still himself to get his bearings for a moment. He needs to get out of here and figure out what’s going on. All he remembers is Shiro’s face, smiling deviously down at him, followed by a rush of wind and flame. It didn’t burn, but it was warm and smoky, engulfing him in a cocoon of atmosphere. Keith needs to find him. He still needs to find out what the hell is going on. He needs answers.

When Keith was five, the women in charge of the children’s home took all of the kids to a Halloween event down at a local farm. They spent the day painting pumpkins and eating treats sweeter than any of them had ever experienced. They drank warm apple cider and watched terrible local bands play covers of even worse songs from the eighties. There was an excruciatingly long hayride that Keith distinctly remembers as the exact moment he learned he was allergic to hay. A farmer came to speak to their group, leading them all through the animal pens, teaching about cows and pigs and chickens and all the things they needed to be well-cared for.

At the end of the day, just as the sun began to settle over the horizon, their group was led to the edge of a gigantic cornfield. Looking back on it now, the cornfield was pretty meager, but five-year-old eyes see through a different lens. The world is much bigger and imposing for a child, even if full of wonder. This field, they were told, was a maze. Their job was to find the end and secure a prize. The home mothers assured them all that they would be waiting at the end and if they got scared at all, to just shout and they’d come running. As they walked off toward the maze exit, the farmer crouched down on a knee in front of the small crowd of children. He handed each of them a tiny flashlight and winked. _There’s no need to worry kiddos, this is the safest corn this side of the Mississippi! And do you wanna know a trick? Just put your hand on a wall and follow it. It might take you some time, but you’ll get out in the end._

Keith uses this trick now. He settles a hand against elegant chair rail and trails fingers down the length as he works his way slowly through labyrinthine halls. Eventually, he comes across a winding, circular staircase. Much like the rest of the palace, it screams money. The steps are draped in an ornate rug, the rails wrought-iron and twisted to look like vines. Little metal blooms are attached to the vines, painted in rich, jewel-toned enamels. Gripping the rail, he trudges down the stairs into a cavernous entryway. It’s a sparkling rotunda, stately and complex in its construction. The walls are high and covered in oil portraits and landscapes. In the center sits a round table with a bowl on top, filled with strange fruits (at least, Keith _thinks_ they’re fruits) of various varieties.

He steps up to the front doors and pauses, staring through the heavy shards of seeded stained glass. The glass is cut into abstract scenes of fire and skies, souls leaving bodies, angels and demons locked in battle. It’s much more complex than stained glass has any right to be, and more beautiful still. The doorknobs are heavy, gold things, gaudy in their appearance where everything else seems to fit precisely into whatever place is assigned to it. He takes a deep breath again and turns one, pushing through a heavy door and stepping outside.

The landscape is different than the last time he was here. Well, sort of here. Either way, the scenery has changed. The ground is still a deep obsidian, glassy and brilliant. Only, here it winds in purposely curated walkways trimmed with strange grasses. The grass here isn’t green. Instead, it’s a deep, navy blue. There’s light overhead, although not from any sun that he can spot, that catches the blades. A light breeze blows, sending the plant life swaying and shimmering, highlighting their color in the bright afternoon. It’s warm here, the perfect temperature for the outfit Keith is wearing. He still wonders how he ended up wearing it. Add that to his ever-growing list of questions.

A hum reaches his ears, carried gently on the wind. It’s low in tone and resonates within him, calling to him to move nearer. He walks silently down the front steps, wandering through the grounds on still-bare feet. The grass is soft between his toes - much like everything else he’s found here - and it’s a surprise. Shiro is a demon. Demons reside in the underworld. He’s heard folklore, he’s read books. He thought he knew what this experience was supposed to be like.

“You should know by now that not everything is as it is told, Keith,” Shiro’s rumbling voice reminds him, still carried to his ears on the strange breeze. “I am in the gardens. Come meet me.”

The breeze changes minutely, winding around his legs and curling across his arms. It pulls him gently onward through the property, beckoning him to continue toward his destination. His feet stumble a bit as he draws up on the edge of a perfectly groomed garden. The plants are tall and wild looking, even if trimmed neatly into shape.

The garden is sprawling if a bit too symmetrical for Keith’s tastes. The odd flowers are neatly arranged in clean, triangular beds, cut through by a cross-shaped stretch of pathway. Keith follows the pathway through, taking in the odd foliage around him as he goes. In the very center of the garden stands a fountain, tall and proud. It’s fairly similar to any other fountain Keith has seen in parks or museums, only the figures are just off of any animal he recognizes. They’re eerily similar to the shapes and creatures he saw in the spellbook the first time he flipped through its pages. The fountain spills some sort of water, crystalline and pure, but it shimmers under the odd light of the sky, reflecting rainbow-like and opalescent. It’s a beautiful incandescent sheen that draws the eye. Keith trails the fountain, tempted to reach out and touch the liquid until he rounds to the back of the stone basin.

There, huge and imposing, stands Shiro in his true form. He’s tall and stately, although standing casually with massive hands tucked in the folds of his clothing. He’s so different here than Keith remembers him, when he masqueraded as a human on Earth, dressed in a stately sort of regalia, prince-like, nearly militaristic. His clothes are nothing like Keith is draped in. He’s done up in stiff, starched fabrics in creams and whites, settled tightly over his chest and cut off nearly at mid-thigh. Over his shoulders rests two crossed sashes festooned with strange adornments, nearly like the ribbons and pins Keith is used to seeing on military officers, but much more animal in nature. There are minuscule skulls and claws crafted of polished silver and gold. Some ribbons join them, but in shockingly bright colors, like the feathers of a parakeet - intended to catch the eye and impress.

Shiro’s arms and legs are exposed like this, and Keith can’t help but drag his eyes across the marble expanse of red flesh. He’s covered in battle scars, torn skin knit together in remnants of sword clash and battlefield scuffle. The scars stand proudly against his skin. Some are raised and puffy, the calling card of newly damaged skin. Others sit flush with the surface, darkened and shiny. Around his right bicep is a jagged ring of healed skin, remnants of a massive injury from long ago. Even with the hard-won texture, his skin is dazzling, soft and supple-looking, and tight enough to show off the carved musculature beneath.

Heat floods through Keith’s veins just at the sight of him.

Shiro clears his throat, and Keith raises his head quickly, meeting his amused stare. Shiro smirks down at him, a singular eyebrow raised. Keith feels his face go hot, but he refuses to back down or avert his stare. He still wants answers, and goddammit, he’s gonna get them.

“You will have your answers, Keith. But first, I will have my fun.”

 _Fucking ass._ Keith really wishes he would stop doing the mind reading thing, it’s annoying at best and invasive at worst.

“Perhaps it is, but it is also endlessly amusing. You are adorable when flustered, Keith.”

Shiro reaches out to drag a clawed hand across Keith’s jaw. Keith shivers at the contact and his eyes slip closed without his direction. Just as quickly as the mood hits him, he shakes his head and knocks Shiro’s hand away. Stepping forward, he closes the space between them, jabbing a finger up into Shiro’s chest.

“I told you I wanted answers,” he demands, poking Shiro harder for emphasis on the last two words.

“Actually, you did not. I stated you had reservations, and you agreed. That is not a demand for answers,” Shiro answers mildly.

“You knew what I was headed home for!” Keith shouts petulantly. “Besides, you just did that mind reading bullshit you do!”

“Perhaps.”

Shiro looks way more amused than Keith really feels like he should. This is his life hanging in the balance. His actual destiny and future hinges on what he chooses here, and he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t just a little bit terrified. There’s still so much unknown here, so much that depends on outside forces. Shiro has only been worming his way into Keith’s life over a matter of a couple months. Keith is expected to make a permanent, life-changing decision in a matter of days. It’s heavy and nerve-wracking, a blade poised above his throat.

“Well, there is no need to be so dramatic about it all, Keith. Once the decision is made, I swear my fealty to you. You are not obligated to agree. I do not think you quite understand just how much power you hold here.”

“Look,” Keith shoots back, “all I know is I got tricked, _somehow_ , into summoning a demon, _somehow_ , who just so happens to take the shape of the actual hottest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life, _somehow_ , and I’ve been asked to make a really crazy fucking choice based off of faith and, I dunno, burning attraction or some shit! _Somehow!_ ”

“Hmm, yes, I can see how that may be daunting,” Shiro agrees.

“Then make it less daunting,” Keith demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _Convince me._ ”

Shiro sighs, his shoulders drooping.

“A fair demand.”

He sits on the edge of the fountain and crosses his legs, patting the space next to him.

“I’m fine standing, thanks,” Keith grits out. He knows he’s being childish. He can feel Shiro’s annoyance with his behavior tickle somewhere at the back of his mind, which is weird, but he’s also standing in hell, so what does he know?

“Suit yourself,” Shiro grumbles. “I will begin with my own history, then. We can get to you toward the end.”

“Whatever works, dude.”

Shiro laughs under his breath.

“You are endlessly amusing, Keith Kogane.”

“Thanks, Tornado Street Thunder.”

“It is Tor’annoth Sthrathundir, but I appreciate the effort,” Shiro says with a new laugh. “Now, back to the conversation at hand. I am a demon of fate.”

“Fate? Like, death and stuff?”

“Mmm, no. More like destiny. I ferry people along to their inevitabilities, whatever that may be. There are specific demons of death. On my assignment day, however, it was decided that I was not suited for an existence of reaping.”

“You can handle being a demon, but not death?”

“We all have our weaknesses, Keith.”

“You’re covered in battle scars, but sure. Whatever you say,” Keith rolls his eyes. Shiro smiles patiently up at him.

“As I was saying, I am a fate demon, class one. There are three classes, with three being the lowest. I suppose I would be something akin to your Vice President on Earth.”

“So, like, your boss is actual Satan.”

“We refer to him as something else, but yes, essentially,” Shiro nods.

“Fucking _Satan,_ ” Keith whispers to himself.

“I was a human once.”

Keith stops short, the breath stilling in his chest. Along with any existing notions he held about demons and the afterlife, or whatever the fuck this is, he had always thought that these things existed apart from the mortal realm. That demons and angels and the like sort of just...appeared as they were. He never thought that people could become anything near to what Shiro was.

“You are correct in a sense. Humans cannot simply fall asleep and wake up as demons. It is much more intricate than that. This is something you will learn if I am successful in swaying you. Hopefully soon.”

Keith sighs impatiently. He already knows the goal here, thank you very much, Shiro.

“To the point, as always. Again, I was human. My turning occurred during a time of great warfare for my people. It is why I was selected for the change. At the time, I was something akin to a warrior. I led my people’s hunters and defenders. I was a protector of my tribe. Then, humanity was a largely hunter-gatherer population. However, there were still pockets of smaller civilizations - tribes that chose to band together for safety. Occasionally, clashes would occur that had to be dealt with.”

“And that’s where you came in.”

“Precisely. This particular war, however, was unlike the others. The things we fought, at first, seemed mortal. Human. But they were not. We soon learned that our meager weaponry could do nothing against them. I lost my arm-” he gestures with his chin toward the ring of scar tissue around his right bicep- “to what I would later learn was a demon of warfare. My first brush, as you might say. I should not have survived.”

“I imagine hospitals were hard to come by.”

Shiro laughs softly, albeit edged with a bit of sadness.

“That they were. So, I lost my arm but continued to fight. I had a family, you see.”

Keith’s stomach drops low. Shiro is old. Extremely old. Of course, he would have a history that Keith could only imagine the length and breadth of. Still, he feels the word like a punch to the gut.

“Families were different then. We did not have marriage as you do now, but the feelings and intent were the same. The need to be close was the same. So I fought on. I continued fighting until I could no longer move, could no longer see. It was futile, I am sure you have figured out by now. No mortal can defeat a demon if their fate is sealed. As it so happened, ours was. They leveled the tribe, took them all for blood and bone. Myself and two other fighters were left behind, forced to watch our lives destroyed before our eyes.”

“Shiro, I’m so sorry.” Keith has never been good at apologies, and he feels the words are nowhere near enough, but they’re all he has.

“It was a long time ago, Keith. I have recovered. All does not end poorly, however. After the carnage and waste, a higher demon came to us. He offered us an opportunity, a chance at survival. The other two were largely uninjured and declined. I, however, was delirious. Blood loss and injuries had claimed me long before the offer. They dangled visions of reuniting with my mate and child. I...failed to resist. The turning was performed right there, in the center of a bloody field. I was taken without even seeing so much as their corpses.”

“That’s...I’m sorry.” Again, ineffectual. Shiro smiles wanly all the same.

“I was dragged to court, trained and sorted as a demon of fate. On your assignment day, you are granted one favor. A gift, to mark your dedication and celebrate your joining of the ranks. I wished to see my family. They both passed and were sorted into bliss. I am pleased for their rest.”

“Well, that’s great, then. To know what happened, I mean.”

Shiro’s eyes slip closed for a moment.

“It is indeed.”

“So then what?”

Shiro reopens his eyes, focusing intently on Keith.

“I performed my job. Demon of fate, you see. There was nothing to distract me or keep me from achieving my goals. I quickly worked my way up the ranks until I became what you see before you. This is both good and bad.”

“And why is that?”

“I am the youngest high-rank in the realm.”

Shiro levels Keith with a meaningful look. The problem is, Keith doesn’t quite know what the meaning  _is_. He can tell there’s an important message written between the words, but he can’t figure out what it would be.

“This places expectations on my shoulders that other demons do not contend with.”

Another look. Still, nothing but confusion in Keith’s mind.

“I draw more attention than more experienced demons. I am asked to meet higher demands, fill certain duties just as quickly as my ascension.”

Shiro’s eyebrows furrow as the realization that Keith just doesn’t _get it_ sets in.

“Keith, ask me of my age.”

It’s a great question, actually. Keith had thought all demons were ageless, endless beings, so it’d be pretty good to know the answer.

“Uhh, okay. How old are you, Shiro?”

“I am ten thousand years old.”

Keith’s skin goes cold. He suddenly feels very, very young.

“Well, Keith,” Shiro chuckles, “you are. I nearly feel inappropriate choosing you. However, my age is important. My nearest counterpart in age and status is one hundred thousand years of age.”

What the fuck.

“I am but a babe.”

“What the _fuck_.”

Shiro laughs again, stronger this time.

“Yes, it is a lot to take in. However, because of my age, I have been given certain rules I must adhere to. If I do not, I will face punishment.”

“What are the rules?”

Keith almost doesn’t want to know. No, scratch that, Keith for sure doesn’t want to know. But he came for answers, and if this is what it takes to get them, he supposes he’ll have to listen.

“These rules are why you are here with me, Keith. You would be wise to do more than listen. Rule the first, I must meet a standard goal across each lifetime I ferry.”

“You...have a quota?”

“In the simplest terms.”

Keith takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his hip. He can’t believe this. Here he is, in a crazy-ass garden on some palace resort in hell, and he has to hear about a demon meeting quota like a goddamn traffic cop at the end of the month.

“What’s the next rule?”

“I must do all duties as assigned, no questions or abatements.”

“What does that mean?”

“Older demons of my rank choose their assignments and the avenues they take to pursue completion of those assignments. As I am so young, I am on what you might call a probationary period until I fulfill my final requirement.”

The air around them turns heavier. The sky doesn’t darken, exactly, but a shadow seems to settle over everything, making their surroundings appear dream-like and filmy. Keith feels anticipation curling up his spine at what Shiro is going to say next. The previous two rules didn’t affect him at all, so this last one must be a real doozy.

“Class one demons never rule their domains alone, did you know that?” Shiro asks quietly. “The power is too great. The responsibility is too much. This is why I am under strict command until I meet my third prerequisite: take a queen.”

Ah. There it is again. Keith thought they had figured this out before. He thought they had settled it for clarity’s sake. Instead, it seems like he has to retread that path.

“A queen.”

“I was not mincing words when I asked you to be mine. I am, technically, a king. I need a queen to rule over my domain alongside me, a steady hand to accompany my own. I need you to be my queen, Keith. You are the one I have chosen.”

“I’m not your fucking _queen_.”

“Is this a decline?”

“This is me telling you that if you call me your queen again, I’ll rip your demon dick off and feed it to you.”

Shiro balks up at Keith for a moment, but then bursts into the loudest, most raucous laughter Keith has heard from him yet. He runs the laugh out, wiping at tear moistened eyes then straightening himself back up.

“I understand. You would be my equal in every way. So, by right, you would be my _partner_ and dearly beloved. Are those terms acceptable?”

“I guess,” Keith grumbles, cheeks going pink at the endearment dripping from Shiro’s words.

“I did choose you for a reason, you know,” Shiro says, standing from the fountain to approach Keith. “I should have chosen someone from my own realm. Choosing a human is not unheard of, but it is unusual.”

“Why me, then?” Keith can’t keep the tremble of nervousness from his voice.  _This_ is what he wanted. A real answer. Why, out of apparently every being imaginable, did Shiro want _him_? Why, instead of a demon warrior or whatever, did Shiro want some random, antisocial college kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas and an introvertive streak to match?

“Is this truly what you think of yourself?” Shiro murmurs low, drawing nearer to place a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder. His hand slides lower, grazing along Keith’s arm until he catches a wrist that suddenly feels minuscule in the demon’s grasp. “I have shown you already why I admire you, how I see you. But there is another part of you that tells of your aptitude for this position. Your lineage is unique.”

Keith sucks in a harsh breath, his eyes widening as he looks up at Shiro. Keith has never known his parents. He lost them at a young age and spent his early life in a constant shuffle. Foster homes, fake new families, burning for answers, rinse and repeat. Until he went to college, he had no real stability to speak of. Nothing solid, nothing true, nothing definitively _his_. Eventually, he had just given up on ever learning who he truly was, and settled into the new family he had found in Pidge and Lance.

“You are special, Keith Kogane. You are powerful in spirit and blood. You are a halfling.”

“...a Hobbit?”

“A what?”

“A halfling is a Hobbit. You know, The Hobbit? The book?”

Shiro looks nonplussed.

“You mean to tell me that you’re ten thousand years old and you’ve never read The Hobbit?! What the fuck do you do all day?!”

“I do my job, Keith.”

“Whatever. Why am I a halfling, then?”

“You, beloved, are of mixed blood. You are half-demon.”

Keith’s world tilts wildly on its axis. Half-demon. Demon. Half of one. He, Keith Kogane, is half-demon. He needs to sit down. Shiro guides him to the edge of the fountain and gently pushes at his shoulders until he does just that.

“That’s impossible,” Keith mumbles. “How would I not know?”

“The other half is just as unique, of course,” Shiro continues seriously, taking Keith’s chin in hand.

“What.” It comes out strangled and cracked. More of a statement than a question, really. How could his blood get any more unique?”

“It can because the other half is not merely human. Your human half is strong with magic, Keith. It is witch blood.”

Keith sways forward, bracing his palms against his knees.

“So you’re telling me that I’m half demon and half witch. Right? That’s what you’re saying? Those are the actual words that just came out of your mouth?”

“I do not lie.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

Shiro sighs.

“Yes, I thought you might not. Tell me this, Keith. Have you ever felt the presence of others before you have seen them? Have you ever been able to predict who would be in a room before seeing them there?”

Yes, actually, he has. Each time, he brushed it off as simply knowing his loved ones, knowing their footsteps and breathing. But other times…

“You can feel others, too. Perhaps you have tamped it down, tried to ignore the feelings, but they have always been there, have they not? Are you sensitive to the emotions and feelings of others? Can you pick them out as individual threads?”

“I-”

“And have you ever known another who has had a spellbook call to them? Had one speak to them? Even if as a conduit?”

“Well, I mean-”

“Only those with true power in their blood can summon a demon such as myself.”

Shiro kneels down before Keith, placing two solid hands over Keith’s own.

“You cannot call to something you do not have the ability to hear. You cannot perform a ceremony without the proper intent and tools. You, Keith, are something fearsome to behold and you do not even realize. You could strike me down at any moment you so desired, do you realize?”

Shiro squeezes Keith’s hands and lets go.

“May I see your arm?”

Squinting up at him (even kneeling, Shiro is so much larger than Keith; the realization strikes awe deep inside him), Keith offers out a shaking hand. Shiro grasps it gently and turns it so that Keith’s forearm is extended palm up. With one long forefinger, Shiro traces his nail lightly across Keith’s skin. Runes appear, light slashes of shining red light that shimmer and sink into his skin. With a flick of his wrist, Shiro finishes drawing the symbols and presents the arm back to Keith. He holds it delicately, cautiously, with both hands as he turns it for Keith to read.

“You will learn to read these. I will teach you.”

“What does it say?” Keith asks. The symbols sit heavily on his skin. Their motion has stalled, but Keith still feels them, feels the weight of them as though they’re continuing to sink deeper, burrowing into his bones. His skin burns beneath them, not in a painful way, but much in the way a healing wound feels. Slightly itchy with the knitting of skin, tight with new healing and new growth. A change he doesn’t control.

“I told you that you hold the power here. I handed it over the moment I first spoke to you. This is my name.”

Keith doesn’t understand. Shiro knew his name right from the start, so what does it matter that Keith knows his in return?

“It matters, Keith, because there is power in a name. Any being who knows a demon’s true name, their full name, holds power over that demon. You could command me as you see fit, and I would have no choice but to follow.”

Keith isn’t quite sure how to process this information. If this is true, why would Shiro risk his life over Keith? How could he know that Keith wouldn’t destroy him at the very first opportunity?

“I do not know. This is called trust, Keith.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Keith answers. “I can’t even pronounce your name.”

“I will teach you that as well. We will have the time. As I have repeatedly stated, I will give you everything you need. You will be my equal. Although were it up to me, I would worship at your feet. I feel you in my soul, Keith Kogane. You are destined for me. I was born to be with you.”

Shiro looks at Keith with earnest fierceness, a burning in his gaze that makes Keith feel utterly exposed despite the fancy trappings he’s dressed in. Keith stills for a second, closing his eyes to think. Shiro wasn’t wrong. Keith has always been sensitive to other people. He’d always pinned it down as just another part of his introverted personality. People are fine in doses, but they’re also draining. He often needs time alone to recharge himself. The press of human emotion sweeps him up every now and again, and it’s all he can do not to escape.

He takes a deep breath and reaches out. He probes his mind for that odd feeling he so often gets when confronted by something outside of himself. He searches intently for the odd thread out and grasps at it, tugging until it reveals itself. It twangs, a weighty reverberation leading further inside himself. Keith follows the feeling, seeking out the sensations tied to the thread, the feeling of devotion buried deep in his chest, the longing, the empty part of his soul with a very precise outline of the missing piece.

Keith chases along the sensation, driving further, faster, with more clarity. He drills straight into the core of himself and surfaces, eyes snapping open with a sharp realization. Shiro is his. Shiro was always his. Shiro is meant for him, just as he was meant for Shiro. It’s written plainly in his skin and built solidly in his bones. Some cosmic determination of the universe guiding him along his path until it crossed another’s, determined precisely and cleared exactly to suit him. Two roads diverged in a forest, etcetera etcetera, but what about if those roads converged?

Shiro leans forward, settling plush lips at the base of Keith’s ear. Tendrils of heat curl around Keith’s neck as Shiro lets out a long breath and whispers, “Would you like to find out?”

He smirks up at Keith, just an absolute pantydropper of a smile, and briefly, Keith forgets how to breathe. His lungs don’t cooperate, his nerve endings frizzle out, his mind shuts down. Shiro drags a hot hand across Keith’s bare shoulder and down his side, dragging it around to settle at the exposed small of his back. The touch burns right through him, pooling heat low between his hips.

“You just have to say yes. You just have to complete the contract.”

Suddenly, Keith comes back to himself. There are still a few things he needs to know before he agrees. Keith is absolutely game to tie himself permanently to this demon. It’s fucking buckwild, and half of him still isn’t sure why he’s so chill with it, but before he gets in too deep to really say no, he has to be sure.

“I’m not done with you.”

“Oh, I should hope not,” Shiro answers lightly. “But please, continue.”

“The contract.”

“Ah, yes. I may have...been light on the details regarding that.”

“...How light?”

“The contract you struck states that you and I are bound together until we each fulfill one end of an agreement. We decide the terms, and once those terms are met, the contract is fulfilled.”

“Okay,” Keith sighs, pressing fingertips into his temples. “And what does that mean?”

“Ah, put simply: an eye for an eye. I provide you with a favor and you provide me with one. We were not explicit in those terms, so, technically, the contract is incomplete.”

“So you’re telling me that I’ve been thinking there was some big nefarious thing I had to do this whole time and there _wasn’t_?!”

“Well, not in so many words.”

" _You motherfucker!_ ”

“I apologize for deceiving you, Keith. I do not apologize for why. If you would like, we can set terms and meet them now. It would release the contract and you would owe me nothing further.”

Keith stops short.

“If we do that, do I leave?”

“Not if you do not wish to.”

Keith wants to stick around. He wants to do this thing with Shiro. He also wants it to be completely free of strings.

“I understand. You have never told me yourself, so Keith, please tell me your full name. This is my favor.”

“Done. Keith Kogane.”

“And what do you wish in return?”

“Let me make this decision for myself.”

“Agreed.”

Shiro stands and holds out a hand, and Keith mirrors his action. They grasp each other around the wrist and squeeze. A wind kicks up, high and howling, swirling around their bodies. It whips at their clothes and tangles their hair. Shiro is saying something, but Keith can’t hear over the noise of the air around them. Just as suddenly as it began, it stops.

“The contract is met,” Shiro states with a smile, still holding onto Keith’s wrist.

“Well, alright, then,” Keith answers with a resolute nod of his head. Shiro’s smile sharpens and he tugs on Keith’s arm, pulling his body flush against him. Up close like this, Keith really feels their difference in size. Shiro towers over him, looming but warm. It’s not a scary type of difference like before. Now it feels comfortable, _right_.

“May I advise the servants that we will be conducting the bonding ceremony now?”

“One more thing,” Keith answers, pushing a palm against Shiro’s sternum. “I’m not just gonna let you drag my ass to hell never to be seen again.”

“I would never assume you would.”

“Good. So my terms.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. Keith ignores him and plows on.

“First, I’m free to come and go as I please.”

“Ah, this is a complicated request,” Shiro answers with drooping lips.

“And why is that?” demands Keith.

“In order for you to become my queen-” Keith clears his throat sharply at Shiro- “apologies, to become my partner, you must join the realm of the undead. It is, unfortunately, part of the package.”

“Okay?”

“This involves immortality.”

Oh shit, Keith forgot all about that.

“Yes, I figured. In order for you to become immortal, you must be changed, much the same as I was.”

“So what’s the issue? You change me, I go about my shit, we’re all happy.”

“Not so much, Keith. The first hundred years of a demon’s life are unpredictable. They can often be volatile. You will still be coming fully into your power, and very often will be unable to control it as needed in the mortal realm. This means-”

“That I disappear.”

Shiro hesitates, gaze softening as he looks down at Keith.

“Yes.”

Keith can’t have that. He can’t just _leave_ everyone he loves behind without so much as a goodbye. He can’t stand to leave them forever, even if he eventually will. He has more to do, more to accomplish. His affairs need to be put in order, he has to-

“Keith,” Shiro interrupts his train of thought, settling hands down on his shoulders. “You do not have to be turned today. You may take all the time you need to prepare for that. All I ask, all I wish, is to bond you today. To tie you to me so that I know you will come back when you are ready. I am a romantic, I must confess. I want your mark on my skin and mine on yours.”

“My mark?”

“Yes, Keith. When we bond, we leave permanent marks on each other. We can communicate through these marks. They serve as a tether between two souls. We feel each other through them. This is helpful when we spend time away on assignment. They also serve as our calling card. The marks show all who see them that we are owned.”

A rush of greed tumbles through Keith’s veins. He’s not terribly possessive by nature, but god if this doesn’t suddenly make him so. He imagines a mark scrawled across Shiro’s body, ancient and glowing, showing the world who he belongs to. Keith’s fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and run fingers along his body, to claim him, to consume him, to give him everything he has.

“I would take it willingly, Keith,” Shiro rumbles, stepping back to arm’s length. “I would take whatever you wish to give as a blessing. I have waited millennia for you, I can wait a bit longer.”

Shiro drops to his knees in front of Keith. Like this, Keith has to look down at him, and it fills him with a power he hadn’t imagined before. He wants to to reach out, to dig claiming hands in Shiro’s hair and tug him forward. He wants to bite and scratch and _take_. But first-

“I finish school.”

“Of course.”

“I’d like to tell Pidge and Lance.”

“You cannot, but I can make arrangements for an easier departure. Once you finish school, you will need to take a job, yes? Perhaps a prestigious contract overseas? This would mean sporadic visits until you and I marry in your human realm and leave to settle down. Is this an acceptable solution?”

It’s a kindness Keith doesn’t think he would receive from any other demon, given the circumstances. It’s a fulfillment from Shiro to do what he can for Keith. It fills Keith with an unending fondness for the demon willing to prostrate himself before him. Keith reaches out and settles his own small palm against Shiro’s cheek, stroking softly down the warm skin beneath his touch. Shiro closes his eyes and turns into Keith’s hand.

“It is,” Keith whispers. Shiro reopens his eyes, settling his own hand over Keith’s.

“May I, then?”

Anticipation crackles in the air between them. Shiro squeezes Keith’s hand, sending sparks shooting along his fingers. The sparks travel across his skin, up his arm, directly into his heart. They light him up from within and he feels incandescent with the sensation. He knows now, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wants this. Keith squares his shoulders and straightens his spine.

“Yes.”

Shiro stands, smiling benevolently at Keith.

“The servants have been preparing for this all week. From the whispers that have reached my ears, they are most taken with the idea of you. You seem to be just as intimidating as you are beautiful.”

“I hope that won’t be a problem,” Keith deadpans. The last thing he needs is to piss off an entire palace full of demon servants.

“Oh, quite the opposite. They seem to like your aura.”

“Whatever that means,” Keith sighs.

“You’ll soon learn,” Shiro says with a knowing look. He snaps his fingers, and immediately, a silver tray appears next to them, floating in midair. Resting on the tray is a single apple and the ceremonial dagger that’s trailed Keith wherever he goes these days. Between them, a small scroll of parchment sits, tied up neatly with a crimson ribbon and wax seal. Shiro reaches out, taking up the scroll.

“The bonding is relatively simple. We perform a short dedication ceremony wherein we declare ourselves for each other. After that, we bond physically.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at Shiro. If Shiro means what Keith thinks he means-

“We mate, Keith.”

-welp. Suddenly, Keith is impatient to get through this damn thing.

“So where’s the demon priest, or whatever?”

“We do not need one. That is something that mortals rely on. Our bonding is deeper than something such as that.”

“Uh, okay. So...what do we do?”

Shiro smiles sweetly down at Keith. His pointed teeth poke past his lips again, but it’s not feral. It’s cute and endearing and Keith seriously wants to reach out and poke one.

“I would prefer that you not do that out in the open, Keith. To answer your question, we exchange words, share the original fruit, and exchange blood.”

“Okay, we-wait, blood?!”

“Yes, Keith. As I told you, our bonds are deeper in these ceremonies.”

Well, the knife makes sense now. Keith lets out a deep breath and nods, gesturing forward for Shiro to go ahead. Shiro slips a finger under the wax seal of the scroll and unfurls it, holding the parchment down between them so Keith can see the words. They’re in Latin, which makes him a little nervous, just because he likes to know what he’s saying when he says it.

“If it helps,” Shiro says, eyes still flitting across the words, “it seems to be standard marriage verbiage. Dedicating one life to another, a wish for happiness and pledge of service. So on and so forth.”

Keith laughs. It’s so mundane of a thing to be pledging that he can’t help it. At every turn, this entire experience has thrown him for a loop, so why should this be any different?

“I think that is a fair point, beloved. Shall we begin?”

Keith flexes his hands and nods.

“Let’s do this.”

Shiro smiles and flicks his wrist. Suddenly, the landscape is plunged into darkness as night settles overhead. Bright stars twinkle above them, clear and crisp with no obstructions. The bushes and flowers around them are dotted with glimmering lights, soft and flickering against the blooms. Lanterns float in the air directly surrounding them. The candlelight flickers softly against Shiro’s skin, sending the planes of his face into diffused shadow. He looks beautiful like this, and Keith can’t help but to reach out and settle a hand on his arm.  They pause, staring at each other for a moment before Shiro draws the parchment up to his chest and begins to read.

The words fall easily from his lips, but they weigh down on Keith like tangible objects. Each sentence hits him directly in the gut, buzzing through him like a live wire. His limbs thrum and his head throbs. It’s nothing like a headache, though. It’s like his body is making room for something new inside of him. It’s a strange feeling, to be sure, but he can’t say he hates it.

Shiro finishes and presents the parchment to Keith, balancing it gingerly on open palms like an offering. Keith lifts it up slowly. He swallows around a dry throat and repeats the words. Just as when Shiro spoke them, Keith feels their weight as they leave his mouth. They feel like arrows crafted specifically for him to nock against the string of his tongue. The further Keith gets, the more affected Shiro looks. By the time he’s finished, they’re standing much closer together than he remembers them being at the start.

Without breaking eye contact, Shiro gently removes the script from Keith’s hands and sets it back down on the tray, exchanging it for the apple.

“Next, we share a bite of the original fruit.”

“Wait, seriously? Is that part true?”

“In a sense. I can tell you the story later if you would like.”

“No, it’s fine, just. It seems a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Shiro laughs quietly, presenting the apple to Keith.

“I suppose so.”

Keith snorts and scoops up the fruit, taking a big bite and returning it to Shiro’s palm. Whatever they’re doing with the fruit down here is something they’ve gotta keep doing, he decides as he chews his bite. It’s the juiciest, freshest tasting apple he can remember eating in his entire life. It’s absolutely delicious. If anything, at least demon weddings give you great snacks. Shiro chuckles at his thought and reaches out, wiping dripping juice from Keith’s chin.

“Yes, I quite agree.”

He takes a bite from the same spot Keith did - much more gracefully, Keith is annoyed to note. Shiro drops the apple between them, and it disappears midair. He reaches out again, taking the dagger up in his grip. He regards it carefully in one hand and reaches out for one of Keith’s with the other.

“This part is a bit painful, and I apologize for that in advance.”

He turns Keith’s palm over in his hand, suspending the blade of the knife over the soft flesh there.

“Are you ready?” He asks, looking up at Keith a final time.

“Just do it,” Keith answers, bracing for the bite of the metal. Shiro nods once and lowers the blade to drag across Keith’s skin. It stings, but Shiro makes it quick. Keith keeps his hand in place, cupped palm filling with blood as Shiro repeats the action on himself.

“Now we drink.”

“Wait, we _drink it_? I thought we were just gonna, like, blood brother it or something. You know, clasp hands all manly and shit, maybe spit on the ground or something.”

“Demon realm, Keith. We imbibe.”

“ _Jesus fucking shit,_ ” Keith whispers. “Fine, okay, let’s just get it over with.”

Shiro takes Keith’s hand and lifts it slowly to his mouth. He tips Keith’s hand and drinks until his palm empties, licking over the wound with his forked tongue once he finishes. Keith feels the skin knit back together, immediately sealing over the wound. Shiro’s eyes close for a long moment, a visible shudder racking through his body. His lids reopen, and the gaze that meets Keith is blinding. His eyes shine with something Keith can’t exactly understand. He knows it’s different, and it feels monumental. Something between them is shifting, Keith just isn’t there yet. Shiro holds his hand out to Keith.

“You will see. Please.”

Keith takes Shiro’s large hand in both of his own. With a deep gulp of air, he lowers his mouth and empties it in a few long swigs.

The moment Shiro’s blood touches his tongue, Keith _feels_ it. It pours down his throat, coating the passage and filling him with warmth. The blood hits his stomach and rushes outward. He senses it as it travels, permeating his tissues and rushing through his veins, setting his body on fire. It burns hotter and hotter as the blood mixes completely with his. Keith gasps and surges forward, losing his equilibrium as the blood pounds thickly through him. Shiro catches him, lowering them both to the ground to cradle Keith in his lap.

Keith’s body convulses. He feels both freezing and feverish, weak and powerful. His mind locks him out, kicking his awareness outside of his body. He watches himself from above as he jerks and moans in Shiro’s arms. Shiro is muttering lowly to him, and even though Keith isn’t  _there_ , Keith is still there, feeling every sensation and hearing every sound. His body feels like it’s rearranging itself, organs and muscles and bones sliding around to make room and twine around the new presence inside of him. He watches as light shoots from his fingers and eyes just as the burning hits a peak, scorching him from the inside out. He screams from the pain, clenching his eyes closed.

Just as soon as the pain hit, it subsides. Keith is left alone, changed in a way he can’t explain. He feels raw and unrestrained. Some part of him feels untamed, wild in his own head. A gorgeous scent hits his nose, awakening his senses. It’s rich pine and crystal amber, a hint of musk and snow. He crinkles his nose, breathing in deep to fill his lungs with it. His eyes snap open, and the world is  _different_. It’s sharper, clearer, more defined than it’s ever been. He can see perfectly through the dark. If he focuses, he could swear he would be able to see the core of every star overhead in the sky.

“I was correct,” Shiro says with awe.

Keith’s eyes swivel around to him. With his new eyes, Shiro is breathtaking. Keith can see him now. _Really_ see him. The whole truth of him. His power pours from him in waves, the scars and age melted away. He’s hard and angular and godly. He smiles at Keith, and it’s the softest thing he’s ever seen. His nose scrunches with it, his eyes bunching at the corners. He has a dimple on his left cheek. Keith had no idea demons could have dimples. Shiro bends down to peer into Keith’s eyes, and when he moves, the air stirs around him, bringing another wave of the scent to Keith’s nostrils.

It hits him like a wall, the most intensely attractive thing he’s ever smelled. He surges forward, nose poised like a bloodhound, seeking the scent. He doesn’t stop until his face slams into Shiro’s neck, realizing suddenly that it’s _him_. He pants against Shiro’s skin, tasting it on the back of his tongue. He groans at the flavor, smooth and rich.

“You smell so good, what the _fuck_.”

Shiro laughs again, amused and patient.

“As do you. Like aloe and rain. A touch of leather. A hint of cinnamon. Like the desert. It is very you.”

“Holy shit, you make me sound hot as hell.”

“You are very attractive to me, beloved.”

Shiro slips an arm under Keith’s thighs and around the small of his back and stands, swaying lightly as he goes. He carries Keith from the garden, making his way through the grounds toward the mansion ahead. Unlike when Keith awoke earlier, he sees no sign of life.

“I informed them to dismiss themselves when we began the ceremony. Bonding is sacred, a sacrament meant only for those involved.”

They trail up the spiral staircase, Shiro carrying Keith like he weighs no more than a feather. It’s unbearably attractive. Keith almost hates it. Almost. Shiro snorts overhead.

“You look so beautiful in your truth, Keith. Your nature shines. You feel so powerful in my arms, so perfect. You fit as though you always have.”

They turn down the hallway Keith walked earlier in the day. Shiro presses his nose to Keith’s hair and breathes deep. The contact lights Keith up, sparking a burning need in his gut.

“You smell incredible, dearest.”

Keith’s body _burns_. His blood is rushing, surging in his veins, carrying fire along with Shiro’s words.

“I knew you had witch blood in you, but to see it awaken, to feel your essence expand. Keith, it is an honor to view. You are a creature worthy of worship and praise. You are ethereal. Gorgeous. A gift I do not deserve.”

Shiro pushes through the door of the bedroom Keith woke up in earlier, and he finally recognizes it. It’s the room from the vision Shiro hit him with before they actually came here. His mouth goes dry with the memory, his vision spiking bright. Shiro lays him down on the bed, stroking down his arms and legs with reverent touches. Keith’s focus skitters away from him.

He needs Shiro. He _feels_ it, a physical ache deep inside. A hunger that demands to be sated. Shiro bends down over him, laying a kiss to his cheek. It’s nothing really, a chaste, fluttering thing. It may as well have been a punch for how it affects Keith. His breath quickens, his pulse racing and tripping ahead of his thoughts. He needs. He needs so much. He wants so much. Why in the world does he want so much?

“You need me because you carry my blood. It sings out to return to me. It wants to bring you with it. Yours does the same to me. This is how we complete the ceremony, Keith. This is how we seal our bonds. Two bodies joined as one to confirm the commitment we speak. Our blood mixes, our bodies join, our souls follow.”

Keith closes his eyes, focusing on the sound of Shiro’s voice, on the feeling of his careful hands. When he looks back up at Shiro, he realizes that he’s not the only one affected by their contact. The demon’s chest heaves with the breath he sucks in through fluttering nostrils. His eyes burn into Keith everywhere he looks. He bends down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Keith’s neck, and Keith’s spine just fucking disappears for all the good it does for him. He immediately goes loose and pliant.

“Your body is complying to me, Keith. It hears my calls and wishes to answer.”

Shiro’s forked tongue slips out from between his plush lips, trailing a wet path up Keith’s neck. Keith groans with it, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Will you let it?” Shiro whispers.

“ _Fuck y_ _es_ ,” Keith hisses back.

Shiro grins, triumphant and sharp and sits up, gathering Keith into his lap. He unfastens the silk clothing draped across Keith’s frame, pulling the fabric away and dropping it carelessly to the floor.

“Then let us begin.”

Shiro stands to his full height, reaching around himself to untie his own clothing. The stiff fabric falls to the floor in a puddle around his feet, affording Keith a full view of him by the light of the stars pouring in through the french doors of the balcony. He glistens like a diamond in the light, body on full display, shameless and proud.

Keith drops his eyes over a hard-cut chest, past rippling abs, and straight down to his dick. _His demon dick._

“Yes, Keith. I am aware,” Shiro sighs.

Keith smirks and sits up, taking it in.

“It’s different than last time.”

And it is. When human Shiro fucked Keith in whatever crazy dreamscape they were in before, his dick resembled something like a sex toy. Demon Shiro’s dick is something else entirely. It’s huge, for one thing, which isn’t totally a surprise - it is, after all, proportional to the true size of him. But the shape of it is wildly different. The skin at the base is shaped like the petals of a flower. They wrap up the shaft, textured a bit like a pinecone. The head is pretty much the same as before, tapering down into a sharp point. Keith is suddenly nervous looking at it. It looks more scaly than skin-like, and he can’t help but wonder.

“Is, uh. Is that thing gonna hurt me?”

“Believe me, Keith, pain is the last thing you will feel this evening.”

_Fuck._

“Unless that is something you would like?”

_Double fuck._

Shiro stalks back to the bed, kneeling on the edge. He reaches down between his legs, stroking himself lightly. His dick twitches in his hand, going slick and shiny under his touch. Keith watches the scene curiously.

“I produce my own lubricant.”

 _Holy shit_.

Shiro slides his hand tightly down his dick, collecting the moisture as he goes. He reaches down with his other hand, drawing Keith to him. Shiro leans forward, capturing Keith’s mouth in a searing kiss. It’s passionate and hot, all tongue and teeth, but colored with an edge of romance that Keith isn’t used to. Shiro kisses with focus and dedication that Keith rarely feels for many tasks he himself engages in. It overwhelms him, filling him with desire and need and graceless yearning.

Keith reaches up, settling both palms on the sides of the Shiro’s face, locking him in place as they kiss. Shiro growls low into Keith’s mouth and tugs him closer, reaching down between their bodies. Keith isn’t expecting it when Shiro’s slick hand wraps around him, tugging expertly at his erection. Keith whines into Shiro’s mouth, squirming and thrusting into the touch.

“Shiro, please,” he gasps as Shiro flicks his wrist just right, stealing the air from Keith’s lungs. He’s impossibly turned on, and while a good handjob is nice and all, Keith’s body just isn’t having it. It’s not what he needs, what he _craves_.

Shiro releases his mouth and dick at the same, collecting more slick from his cock and spreading it around his fingers. He presses lightly at Keith’s chest, angling him back on the bed.

“As I told you, my blood wants me back.”

He presses a hot finger to Keith’s entrance. The claw just barely catches his rim as he slides the digit in clean up to the knuckle in one smooth push. Keith moans out at the sudden intrusion, the contact shooting sparks up his spine. Shiro works his finger around inside Keith, withdrawing and pushing back in, just barely skittering over his prostate with each pass.

“You better not, ah- _fuck_! You better not fucking tear me open with your nails,” he hisses.

Shiro smirks up at him and adds a second finger, aiming directly for Keith’s sweet spot. Keith’s vision whites out, a cry escaping his lips. He shivers as Shiro thrusts his fingers back and forth.

“My nails are not what will tear you open, my love.”

 _Holy fucking shit on a bicycle, what the fuck._ Keith’s spine goes liquid, his entire body shutting down at the feral smile Shiro gives him as he adds another finger. Keith whines, rolling his hips to meet the force of Shiro’s hand. The more it goes on, the needier Keith feels. His blood sings out under Shiro’s attention, keening sounds and babbling pleads dripping from his lips. Keith’s isn’t usually the type to be noisy or beg, and he never thought he would be, but goddamn if he isn’t learning new things about himself tonight.

Keith feels loose and soft around the thick fingers, the soft _schlick schlick_ of lubricated thrusts echoing loud in the room.

“Shiro, baby, please,” he begs. Shiro’s hand stills inside him, eyes flashing up at Keith with a higher edge of burning passion.

“Call me that again,” Shiro demands, pressing the pads of his fingers into Keith’s prostate again.

“ _Baby,_ ” Keith moans. “ _Tor’annoth._ ”

Keith doesn’t even realize he says it at first, the name rolls so easily from his tongue. Where just a few hours ago he could barely remember it, now he can’t imagine ever forgetting the sweet taste of it on his lips. Shiro gasps in a sharp breath, withdrawing his hand quickly. His arm hooks around Keith’s waist, clutching him close to his chest. He dips his head, kissing and nipping down the column of Keith’s neck, licking the sweat beginning to gather on his chest.

“Repeat my name.”

“Tor’annoth.”

His forked tongue rasps across a nipple.

“Again.”

“Tor’annoth.”

A clawed hand sinks into Keith’s hair, tugging his head back.

“Again,” Shiro’s voice is a rolling rumble of thunder in the room. It drips and oozes desire, animalistic and pure.

“Tor’annoth.”

Shiro’s pointed fangs drag across Keith’s neck, and Keith trembles.

“Yours is the only mouth I want to say my name for the rest of my days, my love,” Shiro says. It sounds more like a command to the universe, a prayer for relief

Keith whines low.

“Yours is the only body I want to touch,” Shiro continues, stroking hands down Keith’s shuddering flanks. “Yours the only pleasure I wish to enjoy.”

Keith looks at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Then show me what you like best. Let me do that for you,” he says. Shiro’s hands are still stroking his skin, stirring electricity through his waters. Keith can hardly think through his lust-addled mind, but he knows he wants this.

“Are you certain?” Shiro asks seriously. Keith huffs, leaning up to nip at Shiro’s earlobe.

“Show me what you got, hellboy,” he whispers. Shiro’s responding noise is unlike anything Keith has ever heard from him. It’s an ancient sound, a possessive snarl torn straight from his chest. The world blurs as Keith is yanked by the hips and flipped, his face slamming into the bedding beneath him. Shiro presses a huge hand around Keith’s throat, lifting him flush to his broad chest.

Without warning, Shiro’s dick slips into him, pressing in smooth and deep. The texture of his skin is rugged and drags in the most delicious way, and Keith moans loud as the petals of the base settle inside him. Shiro draws back and snaps his hips forward with another snarl. He pounds into Keith mercilessly, grunting and growling as he goes. His hand tightens around Keith’s throat, large thumb pressing right into his windpipe until Keith’s breath comes raspy and strangled.

Shiro releases Keith’s throat, dragging his hand around to the back of his neck, slamming him forward into the bed. Keith lands on hands and knees just as Shiro settles his clawed hands around his waist. Shiro pulls out farther than before, and Keith feels the pull and press change inside him. Shiro’s dick elongates inside him, nearly slithering as it goes. Keith feels it press against his walls, seeking out new heat. He’s never been fucked so deep in his life, and he briefly wonders if something like this is healthy.

Shiro bends over his back, dropping kisses to his spine as cock shifts around inside Keith, enlarging and changing its texture into something more ridged.

“You do not think pleasure like this is healthy?” Shiro asks. “I have much to teach you, it seems.”

Shiro doubles the pace of his hips, body still bent over Keith’s back, snapping himself against the flesh of Keith’s ass with loud slaps of skin contact. Shiro changes his angle and drives himself directly into Keith’s prostate, pulling a shout from deep in his chest.

“There we go,” Shiro whispers triumphantly. Keith moans at the tone of his voice, body quivering for more of the feeling of being speared open on Shiro’s cock. He grits his teeth and throws his hips back to meet Shiro thrust for thrust. Shiro growls one last time, throwing an arm around Keith’s stomach and dragging him upright to sit on his lap, legs spread wide over his thick, red thighs. His growl reverberates for much longer than it should, shaking the walls of the room. A few pictures fall from their mounts and Keith can’t help but snort in laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

Shiro settles Keith into his lap, shortening his dick inside of him to accommodate the change in position. He drives up into Keith relentlessly, claws biting mercilessly into Keith’s hips. Keith cries out, scrabbling hands across Shiro’s thighs for purchase. His own fingernails dig into flesh. He looks down, fascinated, as he watches himself bouncing in Shiro’s lap.

“Do you like that, precious one? Do you like how you look spread open for me?” Shiro rumbles in his ear, and holy _shit_ , Keith could come just from that. “No, you are not allowed release yet. I still have to tell you how beautiful you look like this.”

Shiro snaps his hips to punctuate his last word, and Keith has to close his eyes, willing himself not to come across the sheets.

“From the moment I first saw you, I wanted to take you, claim you, make you mine right there in the mortal realm. Can you imagine it? I had so many opportunities. Do you remember the forest? I could have dragged you into the pines and had you.”

Shiro grinds Keith’s body down on his hips, his dick springing to life again inside of Keith. He keeps Keith still in his lap, the pointed head of him writhing mercilessly against Keith’s insides. Keith’s mind is overtaken then, a scene of him sprawled across a bed of leaves in the middle of the woods, Shiro decadently running hands and lips across his feverish skin, his dick slithering up his thigh to take him apart right there next to the bike trail.

“I wanted so much to do just that,” Shiro’s voice breaks through the vision. “That would have been much too underhanded, however. You deserve more than that.”

All but the head of Shiro’s dick stills inside of Keith. It presses hard against him, drawing insistent circles against his already sensitive prostate.

“You deserve _this._ ”

His dick retracts and gives a final slam against Keith, and he cries out, coming hard across Shiro’s thighs. He feels himself tighten around Shiro, clamping down as the demon reaches his own release deep inside Keith’s body.

“Holy shit,” Keith whispers as Shiro snaps his fingers. His chest heaves in time with his racing pulse. A glass of water appears midair in front of him, floating on nothing.

“Drink, please,” Shiro insists. “I am not done with you.”

He hardly sounds affected and Keith hates him a little bit for it. As Keith gulps the water, Shiro bends forward behind him, dropping chaste kisses acros Keith’s shoulders. His fingers massage lightly at the small of Keith’s back, wrapping around Keith’s hips. They almost fully encircle his body, and Keith’s stomach damn near drops into his ass at how much it turns him on.

“Another thing about the bond mating I should have informed you of beforehand,” Shiro begins casually. Keith finishes his water and Shiro snaps his fingers again, disappearing the glass as he finishes his thought. “Our refractory periods will be extremely abbreviated until we complete the bond.”

“What?”

Shiro’s claws skitter down Keith’s sides and he picks Keith up, holding him up over the bed. He lets go, but Keith remains in the air, floating a couple feet above the bed, sitting cross-legged like an absolute asshole. Shiro conjures a silk tie from nowhere and crawls across the mattress to Keith.

“You look nothing of the sort, Keith. As I was saying, we will have short refraction until we finish. So-” he drops his eyes down to Keith’s dick. Keith follows his gaze to find himself still hard.

“Ah,” he says in realization.

“Yes,” Shiro confirms, guiding Keith’s hands around behind his back to tie them in the silk. “Before we get to that, I would like to service you.”

“You what now?” Keith asks. Shiro finishes tying his hands and reaches for Keith’s legs, draping one leg on either side of his shoulders. He blows a breath out over Keith’s cock, still untouched and throbbing between his legs. His tongue slithers out from between his kiss-swollen lips and wraps itself around Keith, dripping saliva and vibrating around his length. “Ohhh my god, okay.”

Keith throws his head back as Shiro leans forward, sinking his mouth around Keith and plunging forward until the head of his cock touches the back of Shiro’s throat. Keith moans out, thrusting forward lightly. Shiro smiles around him, and sets to work, suckling him loudly. He drags teeth and tongue over Keith’s shaft languidly, but expertly. Keith wonders how much practice Shiro’s had with this and it slightly bothers him until Shiro gives him a hard suck and his mind empties of every thought he has or has ever had or has ever considered having. Thoughts gone. RIP, thoughts.

Shiro sucks hard and fast, sneaking his tongue out to play at Keith’s balls. They wrap around his sack, squeezing and pulsing and he feels it in his soul. His orgasm comes at him fast, the edge screaming up before he even realizes it. Shiro flicks the tip of his tongue past Keith’s balls to prod at his entrance and his vision goes white. He can’t even warn Shiro before he shoots his load down the demon’s throat.

Shiro withdraws with a pop and self-satisfied smirk. He tears the silk from Keith’s wrist and pulls him back down to the bed.

“You taste just as good as I thought you might,” he says into Keith’s hair.

“Holy shit,” Keith says. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not yet.” Shiro gives him a meaningful look. Ah, yes. That. Well. “But for now, would you be opposed to bonding me?”

Keith’s body goes all warm and gooey again under the earnest heat emanating from Shiro. His core cries out to be united with Shiro. He’s ready. He’s so ready.

“Let’s do this shit.”

Shiro laughs and sits back on his heels. His skin begins to shimmer with light, sparkling and gorgeous. Before Keith’s eyes, the red melts away, his form shrinking and changing. Red fades to tan, black and white hair sprouting from his head, golden eyes turning grey and puppy-like. The transformation finishes, and human Shiro takes Keith into his arms.

“I wanted to do this part like this. It’s...kinda gross, honestly. I thought maybe it would be a little less daunting if we did it this way.”

“What do you mean gross?” Keith asks, leaning back to look into Shiro’s doe eyes.

“We have to bite each other.”

Keith looks down at the scratches and bruises blooming across his body.

“I mean, if we’re talking battle damage, I’m already pretty good, you know?”

Shiro smiles, trailing fingertips across Keith’s battered skin.

“When I say bite, Keith, I mean _bite_. Like, we’re gonna bleed, and it’s gonna be messy, and actually probably pretty unsexy, so I thought you might like me a little less intimidating for all that.”

“You mean you want me to get an easier mouthful?”

Shiro barks a short laugh.

“I guess I do.”

“Well, that’s fine then,” Keith smiles.

“Oh, also, I want you on top.”

The cogs in Keith’s head screech to a halt.

“You want me where?” His voice is much more strangled than he was shooting for, but it’s not every day that a demon changes into a human form and asks you to dick him down.

“I told you. We’re on even grounds after this. I want to give you what you give me. This feels pretty symbolic of that, you know?”

“Jesus.”

“Nah, he’s not around.”

Shiro reaches out for Keith again, pulling him into his chest and sinking back into the bed. He wraps his legs around Keith’s waist, and yeah, okay. Keith is super down for this. Shiro feels just right under him. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been soft at all since they started, and maybe the blood leaving his head is getting to him, but he’s just about ready to swoon into Shiro’s chest.

“How about you swoon into my ass instead, baby? It’s already ready for you,” Shiro purrs. “Self-lubricating and everything, remember?”

“Holy shit, Shiro.”

Keith shifts around, slipping his dick between Shiro’s ass cheeks, and he feels it. Slick drips across him, wetting him down as he drags himself languidly through the sweet-smelling substance. Shiro shifts his hips impatiently, pressing Keith down into the mattress.

“Keith, baby, please.”

Keith looks up at Shiro through his sweat-matted bangs and smiles. He draws back and slides home. Shiro’s eyes roll back into his head and he sighs. Keith plunges in and out of him slowly, angling his hips upward, searching and changing angles until.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shiro hisses out. The curse word almost stops Keith in his tracks, but Shiro presses his heels into Keith’s thighs before he can. “You better fucking not, baby. I’ve been waiting for this shit for ages.”

Keith laughs and drops his torso so he can mouth at Shiro’s chest.

“Yes, sir.”

Shiro whines low in his chest and rolls his hips in time with Keith’s easy thrusts. Keith puts more power in his motions, fucking into Shiro deep and powerful. The air around them changes. It’s charged with a sort of friction Keith has never felt before. The edges of his mind feel like they’re pressing outward, bigger than his skull. He tumbles slowly toward his peak, Shiro writhing and moaning and scratching below him. Shiro’s body arches and tightens as the atmosphere ramps up with the feeling, nearly oppressive as it wraps tighter around them.

“I'm gonna come, baby,” Shiro murmurs beneath him. “Are you ready?”

“Fuck, yes. You look so good like this.”

“Say my name.”

“Come for me, Tor’annoth.”

Shiro makes a screeching noise, as his body tightens impossibly around Keith. He surges up, locking teeth around the junction of Keith’s neck and shoulder. He bites hard, fanged teeth piercing Keith’s skin. He yells out in pain at the breaking of the skin. Shiro comes between them, splattering their stomachs, but his mouth remains fixed, jaw working at the bite. Keith’s chest bursts into flame. Literal flame. Fire shoots forth from him in a hot circle. His skin scorches and bubbles beneath it. It spreads and burns, the pain singeing Keith’s nerves. In its wake, he feels them reforming, reconnecting to the rest of his body. As the connections knit back together, he finds himself flooded with love and devotion and dedication and something akin to _worship_. Suddenly, he realizes that it’s not him he’s feeling. It’s _Shiro_.

Shiro’s hand ghosts across Keith’s chest, and he looks down. There, across the peaks and valleys of his skin is the remnant of the burn. A bright red symbol shaped exactly like the summoning circle Keith used to call Shiro forth. The symbols and sigils are all there, all etched permanently into his skin. A wave of possession and certainty floods through his veins, sweeping him away in its tide.

“Your turn,” Shiro whispers, kissing him deeply and shuffling forward into his lap. Keith grips him by the hips and drives into him again. Shiro’s eyes close, a wave of encouragement flooding directly into Keith’s chest. It slams into his heart, thrumming and pulsing and taking control. He snaps his hips one, two, three more times. Shiro constricts impossibly around him and Keith slams into the wall of his release. He comes deep inside Shiro, a silent scream on his lips. Shiro shoves up and forward, grabbing Keith by the back of his head and slamming his mouth against his own shoulder.

Keith bites into him with much more ease than he thought possible. He teeth sink past Shiro’s skin like a hot knife through butter, sliding in and locking with the motion of his jaw. Shiro hisses and squirms as the flames take their turn with him. Keith tastes his blood in his mouth, hot and metallic and sweet. It fills his mouth like before, but he willingly gulps it down this time. He wants all that Shiro can give. He wants to absorb it all. He wants to lift Shiro up and give him everything. He wants the immediate future, the distant future, futures that haven’t even been invented yet.

Keith looks down the best he can and watches the seal spread. It settles, matching his exactly, and he extracts his teeth from Shiro’s shoulder. He leans forward to settle his forehead against the mark, Shiro wrapping his legs back around Keith’s waist. He traps Keith like this, settled silently together while Keith softens inside him.

The bond hums as they volley emotion back and forth, an understanding blooming and settling between them. Keith never knew he could feel this way with another person, nonetheless an actual demon. It’s pretty fucking metal, if you ask him.

Shiro laughs loud, a hideous, snorting thing. Keith loves it immensely.

“I didn’t ask, but thanks, babe.” Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders. “I can’t wait to see you rule. You’re gonna be incredible. You’ve just got this aura about you, you know? You’re lousy with power, but you’re not an ass about it. That’s what we need down here. Too many self-servicing dicks walking around. You’ll be perfect.”

Shiro is more animated than Keith has ever seen him. He’s open and relaxed, chattering happily about the future. Keith doesn’t even feel bad for zoning out on his words to just watch him talk. Eventually, Shiro must realize that Keith isn’t really listening anymore because he stops talking to stare into Keith’s eyes.

Shiro leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Keith’s mouth. Their lips move against each other in gentle kisses, enjoying the new feeling of their bond. Shiro sneaks a still-forked tongue past Keith’s lips one last time and Keith nips at it, finally pulling out to roll off his partner. Mate? It’s still kind of weird to say. They’re not fucking _dogs_ , after all. There’s gotta be a better term he can use.

Keith flops down on the mattress, rolling over to his side and propping his head up on one hand. He sets his palm over the mating seal embossed across Shiro’s chest. Shiro shivers, purring under his touch, and rolls into Keith’s chest. He settles a heavy palm on Keith’s waist and tugs him forward, aligning their bodies chest to chest. Keith smiles and pulls the blankets up over their hips, tangling their legs together.

Shiro’s eyes are closed, and he hums a low tune under his breath. His face is so peaceful and still that Keith can’t help but to reach out and trace across the planes of it. Even with all the affirmations and reasoning, Keith still finds it hard to believe that such a powerful and beautiful creature would want him, would _choose_ him over any other being in existence.

Shiro huffs softly through his nose. His eyes stay closed, but he leans forward, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead.

“You gotta remember, honey. Just because I’m a demon of fate, that doesn’t mean I can get away from my own.”


	3. i go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two weddings and a funeral

Several moments in Keith’s life stick out sharply when he ponders over his time spent on Earth.

Some of those moments are broken, razor-edged shards of glass that rub and cut at his mind each time he recalls the memories.

A tumultuous childhood, a time of loss and death, abandonment and hopelessness, fruitlessly crying out with nobody to hear or understand. An angry youth, a tumbling confusion of isolation and scrapping fights, left to rot in group homes and foster family spare rooms. Lonesome, frustrated teens, a period of shaking self-discovery and education at the hands of others just as inexperienced as he. His midnight turn into adulthood, raising trembling, eighteen-year-old hands to the ceiling before packing his only bag and turning out into the cold city streets toward a future unseen and looming.

Other moments, newer memories, are warm tendrils of comfort, wrapping him in ease and familiarity.

An arrival, taking a deep breath and turning the handle - both proverbial and literal - to open the door to his future. A meeting, two warm hearts to crack open his own and worm their way into his soul. Stepping foot into the right classroom for the first time, finding a passion he never knew he could have. Midnight study sessions full of coffee and bleary eyes, growing closer to the only two friends he’s ever known. Drunken evenings on sprawling front lawns, heads laid in laps, limbs scattered across limbs, spilling secrets and laughing loud until his face hurt.

Then there are the moments that can’t be classified with the rest; the strange moments, the _others._

Twinges of feelings, occasions of intrusion on his thoughts, shadows at the corners of his eyes that he brushes away as exhaustion and stress. Turning corners to find the exact person he needs. Walking into rooms with the names of the occupants on his tongue before their faces meet his eyes. Knowing how the day will go before stepping foot from his bed.

An afternoon mission through a dusty flea market, tugged forward by invisible hands gripped around his heart. A book, cracked open and haunting, pushing him ever closer to a discovery he always knew would find him, but he never truly suspected to make. A glowing summoning circle, dripping in his blood and awash in otherworldly light. A demon, but not a master. A man, but not really. A love, but something more. A future, endless as the sky.

Keith knows there are more of these monumental experiences to come. He specifically knows a certain few that careen wildly in his direction, ever faster in their approach.

Shiro held to his end of the deal with the type of dedication and unwavering resolve that still shocks Keith to his very core.

Professor Shirogane stuck around campus just long enough to conveniently take a new position overseas right at the time Keith was accepted into the exact grad school program he’d be instructing classes for.

Keith and Shiro’s relationship was a secret they maintained while Keith completed his undergrad studies, which, naturally, meant the entire campus knew about them in vivid detail. Keith could be discreet, but discretion seemed to be a highly human trait, judging by how transparent Shiro managed to be around him at all times. So, when the time came for Professor Shirogane to withdraw from his staff position and officially announce his intention to leave, it was no surprise when other students and faculty openly approached both him and Keith to ask about their plans together.

Shiro was more than delighted to air out all of the specifics about their life and future. Keith is hard-pressed to remember a single time in his twenty-six years when he blushed so much. Even so, he can’t help but feel a possessive warmth flood his system every time one of them explains their intertwined futures to another stranger. These instances happen often enough that he thinks the feeling should have died down already.

This particular instance is different. This particular instance is the most important.

Keith and Shiro sit across the desk from the Justice of the Peace, a portly man in his late-fifties with a kind gaze and heavy limp. He smiles serenely at them as he checks their legal information. Keith clenches his hand on his knee, sweating at the small of his back as the man’s gaze sweeps over Human Shiro’s birth certificate. Keith knows that the document is iron-clad (demon powers and all that), but it’s one thing to consider breaking the law and another to actually do it. Although, he imagines it would be a hell of a sight to try and explain his fiance’s actual age to the man. _Yes, hello, I am a fucking idiot who summoned a ten-thousand-year-old demon of fate and ended up falling in love with him? Somehow? Also, we’d like to get married, please. Human married. Like you do. Thanks._

Shiro snorts quietly beside Keith, taking up his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. Of course he would find the thought funny. _Of course._

“Well, fellas,” the Justice says, sliding their paperwork back to them over the desk, “everything here is in order. Shall we get a move on with the good stuff?”

Shiro gives a beaming smile to Keith across their interlaced fingers.

“Ready if you are, babe.”

Keith lets out a shaky breath and grins back.

“Always.”

“Fantastic!” the Justice chirps, clapping his hands together and standing from his desk. “If you two would like to join me over here then, we can do this the proper way!”

The pair stands and follows the man to stand in front of a stately fireplace, crackling softly with burning lumber. The room is warm and cozy with it, the flickering light casting long shadows on the walls.

“Our witnesses, please?”

Lance and Pidge step forward from the doorway, Lance taking Keith’s side and Pidge taking Shiro’s. It’s been four years since they’d officially met the man, and over that time, they’ve both grown to love him just as fiercely as they loved Keith. Human Shiro maintained a similar story to Keith’s - no family left to speak of, raising himself into the man he is today, working hard to earn every title he held. The truth of the story wasn’t much different, so Keith thought the fact-fudging was okay enough to evade guilt.

Shiro won them over much the same as he won Keith, although a little more naturally. His innate personality makes him incredibly appealing; he is magnanimous, patient, loyal to the end, with just a touch of sarcasm and gallows humor. He hides his full power when he wraps himself in human skin, but it still leaks from the core of him, a protective edge that coats his hulking form like armor. It’s a deadly combination, the perfect foil to Keith’s deadpan sarcasm and biting wit. Their rough edges perfectly align, smoothing into a well-oiled partnership that strengthens the two of them into one unique unit.

Lance and Pidge watched and softened as Keith and Shiro’s relationship deepened and changed. They stood faithfully by as the two staked a permanent claim over each other’s heart and future. Of course, Keith never quite told them that the process was already much further along than they assumed, but what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

Pidge became like a sister to Shiro, seeking his knowledge and advice on multiple occasions, both scholarly and not. Lance developed a weird sort of hero worship over the man, deciding that Shiro was everything he needed to be. He was soundly broken of the urge by an exasperated Keith, but not until after a very awkward six months for them all.

Eventually, they became their own little family, hodgepodge and strange, but perfect all the same.

Shiro transported himself and Keith back to the states to ask the duo for permission to marry Keith when it was time. Lance went through a full box of tissues. It was a lot for Keith. Pidge only smirked and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Keith will never forget the look on Shiro’s face when she leaned in, patting his shoulder and promising that if he ever broke Keith’s heart, she’d tear his out in return.

Keith still loves giving him shit over it when Shiro is at his most relaxed and teasing.

A sniffle sounds out over Keith’s shoulder and he cringes.

“Lance. Nothing’s happened yet.”

“I know,” Lance whines, “I can’t help it. I’m just so happy for you crazy kids!”

“We’re both older than you,” Keith grumbles.

“Somehow,” Pidge deadpans.

“Not that this isn’t lovely,” interrupts the justice, “but I do have another appointment after this, unfortunately, so we do have to get a move on.”

“Right. Of course,” Shiro breathes and snaps to attention. Keith faces him, placing his hands into Shiro’s larger ones.

“Now, everyone in this room knows why we’re here, and from what I can tell, it’s for good reason that the two of you should be joined today-” the Justice keeps talking, Keith knows, because his mouth keeps moving. The sound doesn’t reach him, though. He’s focused on Shiro’s human face, the lightened scar across his nose, the bulging muscles beneath his shirt, the soft wonder he stares at Keith with. The officiant drones on in the background about a deep and perfect love, somethingsomething, embodiment of faith, somethingsomethingsomething, forever.

 _Forever_.

Keith’s heart skips a beat. Forever is a concept few can truly grasp. Forever is a mighty long time. Prince knew what was up. Shiro smiles down at Keith. Keith smiles back and slides his gaze over Shiro’s shoulder to Pidge. Her eyes are glazed over, and her lip is curled in the way it so often is when she’s holding herself back from crying. Lance sniffles again behind him. Keith removes a hand from Shiro’s grip and reaches back to him, Lance grabbing on and squeezing his hand hard.

He’s going to miss this.

He’s going to miss them.

_So much._

See, the thing about agreeing to be a demon’s husband is that eventually, you have to join them permanently. He knew this. He agreed to it. The thing he didn’t count on was a demonic governing body that was _really_ interested in deadlines. Like, to a quite frankly strange degree. After Keith and Shiro’s bonding, Shiro had to report back to his council. Although choosing Keith was unusual, they allowed it. After hearing the terms they had agreed to, the council gave Keith five years of humanity to tie up his affairs. In return, Shiro had to share a bit of his power with Keith so Keith could assist him in his assignments until his turning. Keith can’t do much, mostly just change his appearance to suit whatever assistance Shiro needs as he ferries souls. Together, they’ve been more successful than Shiro alone had been in centuries. Even so, the ever-ticking hands of time have seemingly spun at lightspeed around the clock.

He has one year left.

This marriage is as much for Lance and Pidge as it is for him and Shiro, really. Shiro’s mouth quirks down a bit at that. His eyes take on a knowing glint, and he squeezes Keith’s fingers gently.

The justice goes silent beside them and Lance’s hand disappears from Keith’s. Pidge reaches into her pocket, extracting a delicate chain with a wedding ring looped around it. _Ah._ Lance nudges Keith’s spine with an elbow, then drapes his hand over his shoulder, palm up, to present a larger ring. The bands match, simple circlets of matte black, one slightly thicker than the other to match their proportions. When Shiro conjured them, Keith knew they were perfect. Something inside him settled further at the sight of them, the thought of sliding one down Shiro’s human finger, another way to claim him for his own.

“I understand you two have vows prepared?” the Justice asks, settling a hand over his ceremony book. Keith and Shiro nod, smiling nervously at each other.

“Then, Takashi, if you please,” the man gestures at Shiro to begin. Shiro clears his throat and opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a broken, strangled sound. He closes his mouth for a second, tightening his lips into a straight line until he tries again.

“Keith, I-I’ve loved you since long before I ever met you. I am certain that at the birth of the universe, your soul was hand-crafted by the gods and set aside to rest until we could meet one day. There has never been another person on this or any other plane of existence who has called to me the way you do. There never will be again. I am not a superstitious man, but I know fate when I see it.” Keith snickers. “You are it. I love you.”

Shiro slides the ring down Keith’s trembling finger and _oh._ Keith doesn’t know when he started shaking, but there it is. Lance stifles a sob behind him, and Keith is inclined to agree. Shiro smirks at him.

“And Keith, your turn,” prompts the Justice after several measured seconds.

“Ah, um,” Keith stammers, Pidge snorting at him from behind Shiro. “I’m not as good with words as you, okay? So just. Don’t be too disappointed.”

“I would never,” Shiro replies earnestly.

“Okay, so, uh. I’m not a particularly outgoing kind of guy? You’re one of three people in my life that I actually give more than a single shit about. And it’s not because I hate people or anything. It’s just that they’re hard _._ And they leave _._ But you? You’ve never been difficult for me. Everything about you is easy. Everything about loving you is just _easy._ And I can’t think of any other person that I would want that with for the rest of my life. My forever is bound to you, and I don’t mind a single bit. So that’s fuckin’ wild.”

Shiro guffaws openly as the Justice visibly twitches at Keith’s words.

“Anyway, I love you and I’m glad to have met you. If I had the choice, I’d do it all over again.”

Keith slips Shiro’s ring on his finger, and that’s it. The Justice declares them married, everyone signs the wedding certificate, and off they go. They all tumble out of the small office into the main square of the mountainside tourist town Keith and Shiro had chosen for the occasion. The two of them had rented a cabin just at the base of the mountain to honeymoon in after the ceremony, but before that, they had more important matters to attend to.

Goodbye-type matters. Another of those painful sorts of memories that Keith will have to battle in the coming days. Shiro’s hand drops to Keith’s waist, patting him soothingly on the lower back before turning away to grab Lance’s attention. Keith trails behind, Pidge at his side, as they amble toward the local bar.

“Something’s changed about you,” Pidge observes quietly. Keith looks down at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You think so?”

“Mmhm, I know so. Ever since Shiro happened, you’ve been changing.”

Keith remains silent. It’s not that he doesn’t know what to say, exactly. In fact, he’d had so many things he planned to say. The problem is, now that he finds himself with the opportunity to say them, he can’t seem to say anything at all.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Pidge says. “He’s been good for you. He’s been good for all of us.”

She’s not wrong. Shiro somehow managed to bring them closer as a unit. Which is insane if Keith stops to think about it. Shiro, a literal demon, acting as an anchor and catalyst for good.

“Yeah, I guess he has,” Keith laughs.

Pidge stops in the middle of the sidewalk, throwing her arms around Keith’s waist.

“Just don’t forget us, hotshot.” It’s prescient in a way that she so very often is. Keith closes his eyes, tightening his own arms around her. He knows he’s let nothing slip, but she’s always been perceptive about him. Maybe she’s figured it out. He wouldn’t put it past her. Pidge drops her arms from his waist and pats his chest. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go celebrate the fact that you managed to tie down the actual hottest guy any of us have ever seen.”

Keith laughs, throwing an arm around her shoulders to follow Shiro and Lance into the bar.

“I still don’t know how you did it, Keith,” she teases.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

Inside, they settle at a wobbly bar table, ordering drinks and appetizers as if it were just another night. Keith is thrown back in time to a place where they were concerned with nothing more than midterms and GPAs and what they would do when college was finally over. Lance snorts at a joke Shiro drops about a show on one of the big-screens hanging over the bar, and Keith comes back to himself. He feels eyes on him, and when his gaze refocuses, he meets Pidge’s soft expression staring at him from across the table. She reaches out a tiny hand for him across the scratched and dented wooden surface. He takes it, tangling their fingers together.

“I was serious, Keith.”

“I would never forget you, Katie.”

Keith hears Shiro’s breathing stop from beside him, but he pays it no mind, instead squeezing Pidge’s hand tightly as he knocks a knee against Shiro’s thigh. His husband ( _holy shit, he has a husband_ ) drops a hand to settle casually across his leg. Perhaps they’ve been married in a way for some time now, but it’s still so strange to hear the word settle in his mind in an Earthly sense. It soothes and anchors him. He stares down at his ring, shining dully in the bar lights. It reminds him of his own mortality.

Shiro squeezes his knee.

“So I know you two have a ton of hot newlywed business to get to,” Lance says, wiggling his eyebrows like a fucking chump, “but I have some news. And I kind of feel like you’d want to hear it now.”

Pidge curls her fingers around Keith’s one last time before taking her hand back to shove curly fries in her mouth.

“Whaff’s duh newsh?” she asks, spraying Lance’s face with crumbs and laughing.

“Allura and I are getting married.”

Chunks of partially chewed potato spray Lance’s face as Pidge spits them out to screech at him. She throws her arms around his shoulders, tugging his head into her chest.

“Fucking _finally,_ you big dumb asshole!” she shouts.

Keith smiles serenely, settling his chin in a palm to watch them silently. He still remembers the day they all met Allura.

_It was sunny outside, a rare occurrence for a February day, so they all decided to go walk in a local park and avoid homework for a while. As they walked and chatted, a tiny orange dog zoomed past, trailing a long, pink leash behind it._

_“Coran,_ please _! Get back here!”_

_A tall, tan woman chased after the dog, all long legs and bright white hair. As she neared, the dog took a hard right, beelining straight for the three of them, standing dumbly as they watched the scene unfold. The dog darted directly between Lance’s spread legs, wrapping his ankles with the leash and jumping around excitedly._

_Lance laughed softly and bent down, patting the dog’s head and unwinding the leash from himself. As he stood upright again, the woman stopped before them, gasping for breath with her palms braced on her knees._

_“Thank-” gasp- “you-” gasp- “so much! He’s such a mischievous-” she stood upright to reach out for the leash in Lance’s hands, and as they made eye contact, Keith knew immediately what would happen. “-one.”_

_Lance’s face flared bright red as he placed the leash in her hands._

_“He’s a good boy.”_

_“Yes,” she affirmed, “yes he is.”_

_A week later, they ran into her again, blowing a whistle on the soccer field as she ran the college women’s team through their drills._

Lance chased after Allura for a good two years until she finally allowed him to take her out. Now, three years on, they’re still the most disgustingly perfect couple Keith has ever seen. They lift each other up and make each other stronger. They fit together perfectly, their personalities complementing each other in such a way that Keith sometimes forgets they’re two individual people.

“You know,” Shiro whispers into Keith’s ear, hand sliding up his leg, “that’s how they feel about us.”

Keith shivers at the hot breath on his neck.

“Yeah, sometimes I suspect it.”

“But I hear it. They think we’re perfect together.”

Shiro’s heavy palm trails further, heat spreading out from the touch and wrapping around Keith’s thigh. Keith tries his best to be inconspicuous as he spreads his legs slightly on his barstool, opening enough to accommodate his husband’s exploration while still appearing to focus in on Lance and Pidge’s excited chatter. Shiro’s hand presses high into the valley of Keith’s hip, and he hisses before he can catch himself. Lance and Pidge both stop to look at him.

“Congratulations, Lance,” Keith says evenly. He’s proud of himself for getting it out so nonchalantly. “Did you already buy her a ring?”

“Yes, of course I did!” Lance announces and launches into a long-winded description of the thing. Pidge keeps her eyes on Keith’s face for another couple of seconds, appraising him suspiciously before letting it go and turning back to Lance.

“That was close, wasn’t it, baby?” Shiro croons into Keith’s ear, fluttering fingers lightly over the fly of Keith’s slacks. Suddenly, Keith understands why Shiro insisted on him wearing the damn things. He didn’t get a chance to argue that morning when Shiro shoved the slim-cut trousers and a white dress shirt into his arms with a peck on the cheek. Shiro presses down with his whole hand and Keith grips the edge of the table for dear life.

“I said, wasn’t it, baby?” Shiro smiles and purrs dangerously through his teeth.

“Y-yes. Yeah, it was.”

“Hmmm,” Shiro answers, withdrawing his hand to reach up for Keith’s face. He pulls Keith close, staring deep into his eyes. “I’m so glad you married me.”

He leans forward and presses a slow, careful kiss to Keith’s lips. To anyone observing, it would look just like any other kiss a pair of newlyweds would share on the day of their wedding. But Shiro knows better. These kinds of kisses are Keith’s favorite kind. Calculated and just deep enough, these are the kisses that set Keith on edge. His nerves light up at the contact, his breath going shallow and ragged. Shiro lets him go, pressing his forehead to Keith’s and smiling.

“I’m glad I married you, too,” Keith whispers.

“Well!” Lance announces across the table. “It _is_ your first night as a married couple, am I right?! You two should get going! Katie and I’ll pay the tab, so you can go get freaky deaky in the woods!”

“ _Lance._ ”

“Lance.”

“Goddammit, Lance.”

Lance snorts and slaps his knee.

“Just promise me you two’ll wait until after my wedding to go having kids and shit, yeah? I love you, but I’m too young to be an uncle.”

He drops a dramatic hand across his forehead, fluttering his eyelids at them.

“Oh man,” Keith deadpans, looking at Shiro from the corner of his eye. “Should I tell him, or do you want to?”

Shiro raises an eyebrow at Keith before deciding to play along.

“I mean, he _is_ your best friend. I would feel strange being the one to break the news.”

“Ah, fair enough,” Keith concedes.

“Wait, what?” Lance asks frantically. “What news? You guys know I was just joking, right?! You’re not actually having kids, are you?! I’m serious, I’m not ready for that!”

Keith stands slowly from his seat, stretching his arms over his head with purpose. He leans down on the table, winking across at Pidge.

“That’s for us to know and you to find out, I guess.” He turns on a heel and traipses from the table to leave the bar, throwing a hand up over his shoulder. “Thanks for dinner, I love you guys.”

“Keith! KEITH, YOU SHITHEAD.”

Pidge’s cackle is the last thing Keith hears as he pushes out into the cool night. Not but a second later, Shiro is at his side, throwing an arm around him.

“You do realize he truly believes we are having children now, yes?” he asks, his voice deep with amusement.

“That was the goal,” Keith answers. He turns down the street and starts walking, heading for the mountain trail that will take them to their home for the week. “He doesn’t need to know if I was being serious or not. He’ll forget soon, anyway.”

Shiro tugs on Keith’s wrist, pulling him to a stop. He spins Keith around, looking down at him seriously. His eyes glint with something unreadable.

“Would you like that?”

“...What?”

“Children. Having them, I should clarify. Would you like that?”

Keith’s world comes to a screeching halt, the mountain going quiet around him. Keith has never considered himself to be an innately paternal guy. He doesn’t mind kids. He likes them, even. But his life’s experiences haven’t lent themselves well to preparing him for that particular challenge, he thinks.

Shiro hums, lacing their fingers together and tugging him up the trail.

“More time to think on it, then. Still,” his voice drops several octaves to a soul-shaking rumble, “we can always practice, don’t you think?”

Keith’s body flames hot, pressure collecting at the base of his spine as he anticipates Shiro’s next move.

“You know I can’t _actually_ bear children, right?” he jokes as lightly as physically possible. They reach their cabin, climbing the stairs slowly. They didn’t get a chance to check it out when they arrived, so he just hopes it’s not a dump. Keith fumbles in his pockets to find the keyset they received when they checked in. When he finally wraps his fingers around the key, he shoves the key quickly in the lock, preparing to turn it.

Shiro’s hands crash into the door, caging Keith in. He snaps his head up, looking over his shoulder into Shiro’s eyes. They’re darkened and blown out, burning with a fiery desire. Shiro reaches down, gripping Keith’s hip and spinning him around forcefully, slamming his back into the front door and crowding him up against the gnarled surface. He leans down, brushing bared teeth over the exposed skin of Keith’s neck.

“As I said, there’s nothing wrong with practicing the act,” he growls, slipping a knee between Keith’s thighs. “Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

He nips at Keith lightly, sending his spine all gooey and tingling. He feels like a goddamn teenager again, swept off his feet by the quarterback of the football team showing interest in him. Only now, the quarterback could actually do some real damage if he so chose. Keith shuddeatith the thought.

Shiro cracks a feral smile up at him through artfully mussed bangs and leans down. Looping his arm behind Keith’s knees, he stands suddenly, throwing him over one shoulder. Shiro unlocks the door the rest of the way and pushes inside, slamming it behind them. Keith hears the keys crash into a wall somewhere as Shiro throws them carelessly across the living room.

“This is a nice home,” Shiro comments lightly above him. From what he can see in the dark, upside down, and obscured by his new husband’s incredible ass, he agrees. Shiro snorts and leans his head to the side, biting Keith on the thigh. “I suppose we can take the tour later.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Keith bounces lightly as Shiro bounds up the stairs, two at a time, to reach the bedroom. He plunges into the room, immediately tossing Keith onto the bed and covering him with his body.

“Hey,” he says, crushing Keith beneath his chest and smiling. Keith leans his head back, making eye contact with him in the pale moonlight streaming in from their cabin’s windows.

“Hey.”

“We’re married.”

“We are.”

“So that’s fuckin’ wild,” Shiro says, laughing as he mocks Keith’s earlier line.

“It sure fuckin’ is.”

“I love you, Keith. Truly.”

Keith softens in his arms, melting into the touch and devotion of his tone. He smiles and presses his face into Shiro’s chest, breathing in his natural mineral scent, mingling with whatever expensive cologne he uses. Happiness oozes into his stomach, filling him with warmth.

“I love you, too.”

Shiro sits up on his knees, broad thighs straddling Keith’s lap.

“You never did answer me, though,” he says conversationally, reaching down to unbutton Keith’s shirt. “You did seem averse to the thought, but you never outright said no.”

Keith’s shirt flutters open, Shiro sliding it from his arms in practiced movements.

“Do you want children?” he asks again.

The fabric swishes lightly as the shirt crumples to the ground. Keith reaches forward, tracing thin fingers up Shiro’s front, looping in the collar of his shirt to return the favor.

“Not particularly.”

Shiro’s shirt comes off much faster than Keith’s, joining the slowly growing pile on the floor.

“That is fair, then,” Shiro hums, sliding a warm hand over Keith’s shoulder to pull him forward. He kisses him lightly, drawing back just enough to slide soft lips across his jaw. “But as I said, I fully intend to practice the act with you. As many times as it takes.”

Keith laughs into Shiro’s shoulder and climbs into his lap.

“Well, I don’t just take my shirt off for fun these days, you know?”

“You are correct. That is for me to do, it turns out.”

Shiro leans forward and nips at Keith’s collarbone. Keith tilts his head back with a whimper to allow him better access. Warm lips slide down his chest, painting the skin in sucking kisses and lightning-fast bites.

“So,” Keith pants, “how do you want it?”

Shiro’s mouth pauses, eyes of gold peering up at Keith through impossibly long lashes.

“What do you mean?”

“Mmmm, I mean that I married a man today, but I fuck a demon pretty often, so.” Sharp points dig into Keith’s hips as Shiro’s claws extend. Keith groans out, rocking forward lightly. “Does that mean I’m fucking a demon tonight?”

Shiro’s grip tightens around Keith. He swivels his hips again in Shiro’s lap, angling just right so that the other man’s erection presses right down the center of his ass. Score another one for Shiro’s choice of pants. Shiro growls into Keith’s ear and he smirks, pressing himself down once more.

“So yes?”

Shiro stands suddenly, spinning back around to dump Keith unceremoniously onto the bed. This is a great turn of events for Keith in particular, because whenever Shiro loses himself like this, it usually means something excellent is coming his way.

Keith makes eye contact with Shiro, a challenging eyebrow raised in waiting. Shiro backs a few steps away from the bed, unbuckling his belt and slowly pulling it from its loops. He drops it with a clatter and sets to work on the fly of his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping the fabric with a fluid ease. They drop to the floor, his underwear following shortly after, and he kicks the bundle behind him.

Keith stares hard at his body, marble and scars, coiled power in his muscles. His dick hangs heavy and hard, his nostrils flaring slightly with each panting breath he takes. Keith stands up, splaying his fingers out over his pecs and running a light touch down his own torso. Shiro loves a little submission whenever he lets himself loose; something about his inner nature responds to the chance to display his power. Keith scratches over his own skin a few times, purring and fluttering his eyelids just the way he knows Shiro likes. He tugs his own pants and underwear off, stepping forward to kneel at Shiro’s feet.

As he settles to the floor, Keith looks up just in time to see Shiro’s hand dart out to snatch at his hair. He tugs lightly, just enough to send a tingle through Keith’s scalp, and Keith purrs, lowering his head. He leans forward, kissing a line up Shiro’s thigh.

“You can change any time you want, Tor’annoth.”

Shiro’s grip tightens in Keith’s hair and _that’s it_. He releases Keith, skin shimmering and blurring out around the edges. Keith watches in rapture as his muscles billow out, his limbs extending and stretching with the growth. His skin deepens and goes crimson, his eyes fully coat in their natural, yellow glow. His fingers grow longer, their claws more threatening and sharp. His dick drops lower, lengthening and shifting from its human state. Keith wants to throw himself upon it and let it take him out. The glow intensifies as Shiro’s transformation wraps up, dying out just as his true skin solidifies. Shiro reaches out a long hand, cupping Keith’s cheek gingerly.

“What was that about throwing yourself upon me?”

Pressure settles low between Keith’s hips at the command laced along the question. He crawls forward on hands and knees to get a better angle at Shiro. He licks his lower lip, coating it in spit. Shiro’s eyes narrow in on the action.

“Maybe just my mouth for now,” Keith says lightly, and lunges forward, taking Shiro in halfway down his shaft in one go. Shiro moans out loud overhead, sinking his fingers back into Keith’s hair. Keith sets to work, bobbing his head and chasing each motion with a swirl of his tongue. He moans heavy around Shiro’s dick, playing it up just how he likes. Shiro shivers, hand tightening above Keith’s head. Keith drops him from his mouth and leans back onto his heels. “Choke me.”

The good thing about a demon is that they know when you’re being serious. They don’t play at demure reassurances unless it’s something you really need. They just take a smooth look inside your skull, see what’s rattling around in there, and act upon it. Shiro’s attention focuses raw and dangerous on Keith. His brows furrow as Keith pictures exactly what it is he’s thinking.

Realization dawns on Shiro’s face and he _roars_ , thrusting his dick back into Keith’s mouth. He sets a brutal pace, thrusting in and out to chase down his own pleasure. At each thrust, his dick lengthens by inches, growing longer and longer until it hangs in a long loop, brushing against Keith’s thighs. For just a moment, it coils lightly around Keith’s ignored erection, teasing him with the lightest of tugs. Keith’s eyes roll back, a long moan escaping his chest. Shiro pulls the tip of his dick out from Keith’s battered lips.

“Stay still,” he commands. Keith’s spine snaps rigid at the tone of his voice. Slowly, the length of Shiro’s dick raises itself, wriggling and coiling in the air before him. It loops itself around a few times before settling down over Keith’s head and resting around his neck. The skin slides slick around itself as the loops shorten themselves to better fit the column of Keith’s throat. A collar of dick. _Demon dick dog collar. Woof._

Shiro snorts.

“Just for that, I won’t be playing nice, pup.”

“Oh my god, I love you.”

The coils of Shiro’s dick tighten around Keith’s neck, squeezing his windpipe just enough for his breath to go raspy and labored, but ultimately unimpeded. The head slithers up Keith’s chin, prying his lips apart to shove back inside his mouth. It lengthens until it touches the back of his throat. Keith chokes on it, coughing and spluttering and trying so hard to breathe. It’s overwhelming and smothering and _perfect_ and he just wants Shiro to destroy him already.

Shiro braces both hands against the back of Keith’s head, staring down at him fondly.

“I love you too, precious one.”

His dick retracts and thrusts back in mercilessly, snaking past his tongue and down his throat. Shiro fucks into his mouth with reckless abandon, tightening the coils of flesh around his neck and thickening the length in his mouth until Keith can barely stand the fit. His jaw cracks with the effort, his breath going labored, his vision grey and spotty. He’s so unbelievably turned on, moaning and wanton under Shiro’s heavy grip. Shiro is groaning and cursing above him, showering him with praise he can barely make out, battering his mouth relentlessly until suddenly, his throat fills with heat and he’s _drowning_. Shiro cums hard directly down his throat, pulling back as he does. Keith splutters and coughs, and Shiro’s dick immediately drops away, replaced by a gentle hand rubbing at the front of his throat.

“There you go, beloved. You must swallow.”

Keith swats his hand away lightly, leaning back on his heels and glaring up through one cracked-open eye.

“Way to extend the joke, asshole. I’m not trying to swallow my worm pill.”

“Perhaps not, but the theory is still the same. If you would like, I can soothe the discomfort.” He crouches down in front of Keith, trailing his fingers lightly along the length of his ignored arousal. “You know I am quite skilled at treating pain.”

His hand wraps around Keith’s length and twists. Keith’s vision whites out.

“I love you. I love you so much. But if you do that again, I’m gonna come all over this floor.”

“Fair enough,” Shiro hums and flicks his wrist again. Keith keens high in his throat, toes curling into the hardwood. Shiro slides his hand down Keith’s length, twisting his palm slowly over the weeping head. Keith could cry, it feels so good. Shiro leans forward, licking up Keith’s jaw with his forked tongue. “I told you I could mend your pain.”

His wrist twists again around Keith’s cock and he cries out, tears working their way out of his eyes.

“Although, I must say-” Shiro flicks his wrist again- “I am a tad disappointed-” _flick-_ “that you did not make good-” _twist-_ “on your promise to come after one-” _twist-_ “more-” _tug-_ “pull.”

Shiro leans down and shoves the head of Keith’s cock in his own mouth, careful to avoid catching the delicate skin on his sharpened teeth. He sucks hard and flicks his wrist once, twice, a third time, and Keith can’t take it anymore. He comes with Shiro’s name on his lips, thrusting his hips forward to bury his length completely in Shiro’s mouth as he spills down his throat. Shiro hums around his length, pulling off with his tongue wrapped around to collect the last traces of his come as he sits up.

They stare at each other for a long moment, chests heaving and eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Suddenly, Shiro stands, scooping Keith up in his arms and carrying him to the bathroom. As they go, his form shrinks down again, taking on his human glamour once more. It’s dangerous for him to stay in his true shape for too long when they’re on Earth. No matter how isolated they are, there’s always a chance for exposure. As the bathroom door closes behind them and Keith is settled back down on trembling knees, Shiro’s glamour settles fully into place.

He strides forward to start the shower, then turns around to regard Keith seriously.

“I was honest before. What I said in my vows. You were birthed from a star and left for me to find.” He steps forward, gathering Keith up into his arms. Keith loves him so much it hurts. Every piece of him perfectly carved, every part of his soul perfectly weathered, all of him perfect for Keith. “You don’t have much time left as a mortal.”

Ice creeps into Keith veins. Shiro’s grip tightens around him.

“I only bring this up to make you an offer.”

“What offer?”

Shiro steps back to hold Keith at arm’s length.

“I can leave. For the final few months, I mean. Leave so you can have some time to yourself.”

The ice melts and catches fire. It scorches through his veins, lighting a long-buried pyre deep inside him. Everyone leaves, everyone fades. This cannot stand. Keith won’t allow it. He’s never understood what people mean when they talk about seeing red, but he’s definitely beginning to understand. Shiro’s hands cradle his cheeks.

“Hey, no. I’m not abandoning you. I just thought-”

“Thought _what_ , Shiro? That you could wander off during one of the most difficult times of my life?!”

“That you may want some privacy with the family I’m taking you away from.”

... _oh_.

It makes sense in a very Shiro way. Of course he would worry about Keith coming to resent him for this. The logic tracks in an odd line, but it tracks all the same. But Keith would never resent a decision he made for himself. He’s his own person. He’s a fullgrown-ass man. He can make his own choices and selfishly grab at what he wants. So he does.

He grabs Shiro by the biceps and tugs him forward, crushing himself into his chest.

“I can’t do this alone, Shiro.”

Several beats of silence pass between them. Shiro’s arms slide around his shoulders, one palm rising to cradle the back of Keith’s head.

“You will never be alone, Keith.”

 

+++

 

The invitation arrives on a nondescript Tuesday, all cream-colored cardstock and tasteful gold accents. It reeks of Allura’s genteel sensibilities and Keith smiles at the thought as he runs gentle fingers over the embossing of Lance’s name.

He still doesn’t quite understand how he managed to land her.

Keith turns the paper over in his hand, stopping short when he finds a hand-written note on the back, scrawled in Lance’s sloppy penmanship:

_Hey, shithead._

_You’re my best man, you know that, right?_

_Anyway, I love you or whatever. Thanks._

Keith laughs low in his chest, reaching for his phone to call him. As the ringback tone drones on, Keith glances over the invitation again. He’s down to six months now, and every day that creeps by is filled with a touch more anxiety than the last. His mind drifts away with it for a moment, muffling the sound of the phone enough that he doesn’t notice when it stops.

“ _Well, if it isn’t my favorite mullet_ ,” Lance drawls across the line.

“Hey, dumbass,” Keith answers with a smile.

“ _I guess you got it, huh?_ ”

“Fancy as hell, Lance. She’s got good taste.”

“ _Hey! How d’you know it wasn’t me that picked the invitations out?!_ ”

“Did you?”

“ _...No._ ”

“Alright, then. What do I need to do for you?”

Lance launches into a full list of duties and expectations, and for a second, Keith wonders if Allura also wrote him out a list to read off to Keith. There’s no way Lance would remember to tell him all of this on his own.

“Did Allura write all this down for you?”

“ _...No._ ”

“She did, didn’t she?”

“ _...Maybe._ ”

Keith laughs loud into the receiver.

“I’ll see you soon, man.”

“ _Whatever, dude._ ”

They hang up and Keith tucks his phone into his back pocket. He’s still smiling as he turns around to head into the kitchen for some coffee. He’s stopped by the sight of Shiro leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, smiling fondly at him. Keith steps forward, dropping a hand to his heart. Electricity buzzes up his arm and into his chest.

Ever since Shiro woke his inner abilities and lent him a touch of his own power, Keith has been able to feel him differently. He can touch him and see inside his heart. They can be separated, but Keith will still sense his emotions and thoughts. It’s thrilling in a way Keith is unsure has any comparison. Keith smiles up at him.

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” Shiro answers lightly, wrapping strong arms around Keith’s waist. “It’s getting closer. Are you doing okay?”

Lance’s wedding is scheduled for the end of Keith’s time on Earth. Now, he figures, would be the time to tell them. He doesn’t want to overshadow Lance’s day, but it would seem he has no choice. The universe has a funny way of working like that.

“They won’t be upset with you, you know. Pidge already has an inkling.”

Keith sighs. “Yeah, I know. I just...it’s heavy.”

“That it is. Would it help if I left you to spend some time alone?”

Keith whips his head up to Shiro. He’s looking down at him, no expectation or ulterior motive in his eyes; just pure, true concern. It’s overwhelming. It’s also getting annoying, having this same conversation over and over.

“That wouldn’t help at all,” he answers with finality. Shiro nods his head and that’s that. Keith pulls away from Shiro and heads into the kitchen for his coffee. Shiro trails behind him down the hallway of their loft apartment.

“Well, then,” he starts, “I suppose we should book lodgings and make arrangements for our departure.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

Keith is surprised at how small his voice is in that moment, how young and afraid he sounds. He’s never considered himself to be particularly fragile, but you know what they say about mortality. It comes at you fast. Or something. He’s pretty certain that’s a thing people say.

“If you would prefer, I can keep the details to myself so that you do not have to think about them,” Shiro offers.

It’s a sweet proposition, great even, if only Keith hadn’t already skimmed ahead to the particular chapter of the spellbook which outlines - in _excruciating_ detail - just what he’ll have to go through to become like Shiro. It’s not the most pleasant of ceremonies.

“Hmm, this is true,” Shiro confirms, leaning back against the counter. “If it helps, and I feel it may not, the sensation truly does not last long. In fact, you most likely will not feel any pain.”

Keith leans his hip against the sink.

“Really?”

“Yes. The preparation numbs the effects.”

“Damn.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, just. It’s weird to be discussing my own death, you know? To just be standing here in our kitchen, brewing coffee and chatting about being literally murdered like I’m checking the weather.”

Shiro slides a warm hand across Keith’s hip. A light scratching against his skin draws Keith’s attention downward, where he discovers that Shiro’s let his glamour begin to slip for the evening. _Ah. That would explain the formal language._

“It is a bit early in the night for this, you are correct. Speaking of your change does affect me, however. It is...hard to focus when I consider it.”

Keith smirks and presses harder against Shiro’s chest.

“Thinking about murdering me turns you on, baby?”

Shiro groans, pushing Keith away to grab for some coffee cups.

“When you propose it in that fashion, I sound like a truly horrific beast.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, poking Shiro in the side, “but you’re _my_ truly horrific beast.”

Shiro smiles and hands Keith a cup, reaching across the breakfast bar to snatch up his laptop.

“Now, about these arrangements…”

 

+++

 

The months between the invitation’s arrival and the actual wedding slip past in a liminal march, both speeding by in a hurried flood and crawling along molasses slow. Keith finds himself caught up in fabrics and seating and opinions on paid bars ( _tacky,_ he and Pidge both exclaim multiple times). One moment, he’s set to wear a bow tie in the ceremony, and the next, he’s told he’ll be romantic-casual with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up smartly just below the elbows.

Somewhere around the three-week mark, Pidge calls him up to tell him in no uncertain terms that if Allura tells her about another new braid she’ll be expected to have her hair up in, she will kill everyone in the wedding and then herself.

“ _Keith, you don’t understand. I don’t even_ have _that much hair! I literally cannot do what she wants!"_

“Might I suggest a nice wig?”

“ _FUCK YOU, KEITH._ ”

“Mmmm, not my style but thank you, Katie.”

 _“...Shit, I miss you._ ”

Keith’s stomach turns.

“I miss you, too.”

“ _I’m looking forward to seeing you, you know? Lance said they’re not taking off for the honeymoon until a couple days after the wedding so they can hang out with everyone._ ”

“Yeah, Shiro and I rented the bungalow for the full week.”

“ _He wants to do that thing we used to do in freshman year._ ”

“Oh my god, Katie, I don’t think my liver can _do_ that anymore.”

“ _Well, it’ll damn sure have to try._ ”

Keith sighs hard into the receiver. He owes them this. He owes _himself_ this.

“It will.”

“ _Good. Look, I gotta go, Allura is texting again. I’ll see you soon._ ”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, don’t murder her, please. We’ll never get rid of Lance if you do.”

Katie laughs loud and bright as Keith hangs up.

The next three weeks skid by without his permission, and before Keith knows it, he’s standing at an altar smothering tears while his best friend marries the woman of his dreams. He locks eyes with Human Shiro in the audience and they exchange a private smile. Keith twirls his own wedding band on his finger before reaching into his modern-cut jacket for the rings he was trusted with that morning. He finds himself extremely appreciative that Allura finally settled on coats for the men. Otherwise, he has no idea where he’d stash the over-the-top ring box thrust into his care.

He and Pidge make deliberate eye contact as the happy couple exchange vows and rings, and just as quickly as it began, the ceremony is over. He and Pidge hold hands as they watch their best friend happily tromp down the aisle with his new wife.

“Well, emo mullet. You ready for this party?”

“I’m ready for a drink, if that’s what you mean.”

Pidge laughs and tugs him down the aisle for their exit.

“That’s precisely what I mean, bucky boy.”

“Great. Because yes.”

They smile and allow themselves to be patiently arranged for photos and introductions, and finally, _finally_ they’re released to the night’s festivities. Lance and Allura are nothing if not aesthetic, so they chose to be married in a vineyard by the sea. The reception is outdoors, a wooden dance floor surrounded by fairy lights the central gem.

Keith wanders off around the edges, watching from the shadows of the grape vines and humming to himself around a glass of truly exceptional white.

“I know this is a pleasure trip, but an assignment just came up,” Shiro murmurs into his ear, approaching from behind to slip an arm around his waist. Keith’s shoulders tense.

“What? _Here?_ ” he asks, flitting his eyes around the crowd.

“Yes,” Shiro confirms quietly. “If it helps, this one’s true love. I know how much you like those.”

“Who?” Keith asks. Shiro gestures surreptitiously to a familiar, huge guy doing an aborted cha cha slide across the dance floor.

“Hunk Garrett.”

“Okay, and who’s the target?” Keith asks, eyes trained on Hunk. He’s a mess out there, but it’s pretty endearing. He’s all elbows and awkward laughs, and it’s adorable, really. Keith hasn’t seen him since college, and he sees to have really grown into himself. His shoulders are set with an ease they never held back then, his skin sunkissed and glowing.

“Uh,” Shiro says nervously.

“Uh?” Keith parrots. Shiro shuffles his feet. He scratches at the back of his neck. He looks at Keith, but just off-center of his eyes. He’s _nervous._ Keith is instantly suspicious. “Shiro. _Who?_ ”

“Katherine Holt.”

“Oh, what the _FUCK._ ”

“I know, Keith. But fate is fate.”

Keith pinches the bridge of his nose hard. He draws in a deep breath. He holds it for five seconds. He releases it.

“Fate can honestly suck my ass.”

“I already do.”

“OH MY GOD.”

Shiro chuckles at his own joke and grabs Keith’s hand.

“At the very least, I won’t need much from you but a good diversion.”

“Fine, but you _owe_ me.”

“I’ll have all of eternity to pay you back,” Shiro says casually. He drops a kiss to Keith’s cheek and leaves him there, gaping at his back as he wanders off toward the dance floor. Keith watches as Shiro taps Hunk’s shoulder, talking animatedly and gesturing off toward a group of people at the edge of the clearing. Hunk smiles wide and bright as sunshine and takes Shiro’s cue, following him off into the throng.

_Alright. Okay. My turn. No big deal, Keith. It’s just like any other job. Just, you know. Not at all. Because Katie. And Hunk. What the fuck._

Keith looks back at where Shiro has dragged Hunk off to. They make eye contact, Shiro shooting him a shit eating grin. Shiro nudges Hunk and gestures over to Keith, and even though he can’t read all of the words, he can just make out enough of what Shiro is saying to feel annoyed. _My husband now...Still scratchy. Still bitey...great ass._ Keith is gonna murder him. Hunk laughs out, raucous amusement coloring his booming guffaws.

_I don’t care if he was super cool in school. He’s not good enough for her. I swear to god, I’ll murder him before this goes anywhere._

Shiro glares at Keith over the crowd.

_Fuck off, dad. You can’t tell me what to do._

Shiro smirks. Keith isn’t an idiot. He knows the hands of fate reach out whether he assists or not. He knows the inevitable will happen whether he likes it or not. He sighs and turns to search for Katie.

He finds her, eventually, waiting in line for a drink.

“What’s up, shorty?” he asks, sidling up beside her and dropping an arm on her shoulder.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but one of the first things I learned about weddings was that they’re for getting blasted. So here I am, doing that.”

“Hmm, sounds great, honestly. Lemme join you.”

“Don’t you have a speech to make?” Pidge glances up at him in amusement.

“I mean, maybe I do. But if there’s one thing Lance deserves in this life, it’s me making a drunk best man’s speech. ‘Sides, I gotta go see Shiro first.”

Pidge’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

“You haven’t seen him since the ceremony?”

“I mean, I have, but not for long.”

“Well, damn, baby boy. I didn’t know you could physically separate yourself from him for that long.”

“I am a man of multitudes and talents.”

She snorts hard, coughing a little bit on the tail end.

“Alright, my beautiful emo butterfly. Let’s get drinks and go see your husband.”

Keith inwardly sighs. At least this one is making itself easy on him. Score one for the universe, he supposes. They get their glasses of the most expensive scotch Lance can afford and push through to where Shiro is currently entertaining a group of revelers with a story of a lecture gone wrong.

“Oh man, that’s so funny! I had something like that happen to me once while I was teaching a seminar about drone programming,” Hunk laughs. Keith watches from the corner of his eye as Pidge perks up beside him.

“What about drone programming?” she asks. Hunk turns to answer her, smile stretched wide over his face. When he fully faces her, the edges slip a bit, a blush chasing them down.

“Oh, hey Katie! Long time, no see. I, um. Well, just, uh. I teach engineering seminars down at the local university where I’m living, and uh.”

“Okay, first of all, which university? Second of all, talk more about the drones. Immediately, please.”

Keith catches Shiro’s eye. They smile warmly at each other. The energy between them crackles with another job well done. There’s this feeling Keith always gets after they succeed at an assignment, a kind of warm pleasure that soaks his spine. He wonders if it’s the same for Shiro. He nods across at his husband and edges his way out of the group. Shiro rejoins him at the dessert bar.

“Good job out there,” Shiro compliments, handing Keith a plate.

“God, I think that was the easiest one we’ve ever pulled off,” Keith admits with a laugh.

“Yes, they seem truly suited. I think it will be good for her to have him back in her life.”

The _after you’re gone_ goes unspoken, but Keith still hears it. He feels it hit him like buckshot to the chest.

Keith goes quiet. He closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. He clenches and unclenches his fists. He counts to twenty and then back down to one. Anything to distract himself from the conversation he’s got coming. He turns around to the reception, now in full swing and edging toward winding down.

Keith sees Lance and Allura on the dancefloor, hands on waists and shoulders and faces and hair. He finds Katie still chattering excitedly with Hunk, a small hand perched delicately on his elbow. He’s showing her something on his phone, the light glinting off the lenses of her glasses. She laughs her belly laugh, the one that crinkles her nose and throws her head back on her shoulders. Hunk watches her with a soft blush on his cheeks and a fond smile on his lips.

_Well. He’s still not good enough._

“I assure you, he is,” Shiro soothes.

A clink of glass sounds out over the P.A. system set up around the reception, and Keith is beckoned forward to make his best man’s speech before the happy couple wanders off for the night. He didn’t prepare anything. Keith’s always been more of an off the cuff kinda guy, anyway, and he knows Lance appreciates him for it. So, clearing his throat, he grabs the microphone and does his best.

“Look, anyone who’s known me for long enough knows I’m not the most...open kinda guy.”

The crowd titters lightly at his joke.

“But there are certain things that make me open up. Certain people, I mean. The very first time I ever met Lance, I hated him. He was loud and obnoxious and the flirtiest dude I’d ever met in my whole life.”

Everyone roars in laughter. They all know this story, but it’s still funny to relive.

“I learned, of course, that a good chunk of that was just Lance trying his best to be a guy people liked. And the thing is, he didn’t need it. Lance is a good guy. He’s great. He’s fucking awesome, honestly. It’s easy to like Lance. It’s easy to love him. Over the past years, he’s become a brother to me. I can’t imagine reaching the point in my life I’m at now without him. The day he met Allura, I knew she would become that for him. They’re just so...good. They’re good together. They make sense. You wanna talk laws of nature, then ask about the McClain Theory, because they are one. So, I’m just really glad that we can be here for this. You guys deserve all the happiness in the world. I love you, man.”

Keith looks across the floor at Lance. His eyes are full of unshed tears, a watery smile laid bare across his face. Keith sees it coming from a mile away, but it’s still somewhat a surprise when Lance charges forward to hug him and shout, “I LOVE YOU, BRO.”

Either way, it’s good. The whole night is good. Great, really. Incredible.

The reception ends, and just before sending him off to spend the night with his new wife, Lance stops Keith and Pidge just off to the side of their send-off.

“You guys know we don’t leave until the day after tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, dude. You told us a million times,” Pidge scoffs.

“Great. We’re doing freshman year one last time.”

Keith cracks a smile.

“There’s a handle of Aristocrat in my room. You pick the hill. We’ll all go down together.”

Lance smirks and slaps a hand down on both of their backs. Allura calls his name and he backs away, shooting them finger guns like the complete asshole he is.

“See you tomorrow, m’lord! M’lady!”

“Fuck off, Lance!” Pidge shouts after him with a smile.

 

+++

 

The next night finds them on top of a windswept hill by the water, laying on their backs and staring up at the stars. They pass their bottle of truly awful vodka (" _Seriously, guys. This is just rubbing alcohol you can buy at the ABC store instead of Target.” “Thanks, Lance. We didn’t know that.” “Fuck off, Pidge."_ ), taking deep swigs and getting as trashed as humanly possible. It’s their last night together. Ever.

Keith tries not to get booze emotional, but he can feel himself failing.

The longer they spend together, the quieter he gets. He knows Pidge can tell. She’s always read him the best, and he knows she’s sensed this end approaching like a storm. A break in their conversation happens, Keith’s head pillowed in Pidge’s lap with her fingers toying through his hair. Lance’s feet sprawl across Keith’s stomach, and he absently plays with the hem of his pants. Long minutes pass before Pidge looks down at him seriously.

“You’re going away.”

“Yeah.”

“What?” Lance asks. “What does that mean?”

“Keith’s leaving us.”

“Seriously?! Keith, buddy. What is she talking about?”

“It’s nothing bad, really. I’m actually looking forward to it. But, I have to go.”

Pidge pauses, contemplation written clearly across her features.

“Okay, I don’t understand,” Lance says. “What do you mean you have to go? Where are you going? When are you coming back? Did you finally kill a man? Are you going into hiding? Buddy, we can help you, whatever it is.”

“You’re not coming back,” Pidge says, ignoring Lance’s word vomit.

“No, I’m not.”

“...I had a feeling this was coming.”

“What?!” Lance shouts, sitting upright. “What are you _talking_ about?!”

“Look, I’m sorry to do this now. I didn’t want to ruin your wedding, I swear. I just didn’t really have a choice on the timing.”

“Hmm, I suspected. You’ve been real emotional lately, kiddo,” Pidge teases. There’s no heart in it, but Keith appreciates the gesture all the same.

“Yeah, I have.”

“And you can’t tell us why, can you?” she asks.

“No.”

“No, I figured not. Well, I can’t say I’m all that surprised. I’m sad. Heartbroken? Actually? But, if you have to do it, I understand, Keith.” She reaches down to settle a gentle hand across his neck. A tear slips down her nose, splashing on Keith’s cheek. “I’ll miss you, fuckface.”

Keith smiles, settling his own hand over hers.

“I know. Me too.”

“Okay, hello? I still don’t understand what’s going on here!” Lance pipes up from beside them.

“Shut up, Lance. I’ll fill you in later. He’s going away and he can’t come back.”

“Keith, man, please.”

Keith reaches his other hand out for Lance, who scoops it up immediately to press against his chest.

“Like I said, I’m sorry to do this now, of all times. Hot new wife and all.”

Lance snorts, slapping Keith’s leg.

“Dude, you’re a married man. Don’t go getting any crazy ideas. She’s all mine.”

“She sure is,” Keith answers, squeezing his hand.

“Well!” Pidge announces. “Since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other, we have an obligation to finish this bottle!”

“Katie, we’ll _die_ ,” Keith answers.

“We don’t know that for sure,” she challenges, a glint in her eye.

“Hell yeah, Pidge! Let’s do this thing!”

Lance scoops up the bottle and chugs back three huge gulps. Keith already knows he’s going to die tonight. But god, he doesn’t want to die more than once. Still, he sighs and reaches for the bottle when Lance holds it out.

They spend the next few hours on top of their hill, drinking shit liquor and reliving stories from college.

“Yo, Keith. You remember the goat?!” Lance cackles.

“Please, no. Not the fucking goat. I can’t deal with that again.”

“Okay, but you have to admit, setting it loose in the bio department was fucking hilarious.”

“It was definitely something,” Keith allows.

“Well, speaking of setting things loose,” Pidge says, “It’s three in the morning and only one of us is unmarried. We should head out before anyone gets in trouble.”

“I dunno, Katie. The way you were hanging off Hunk earlier, I don’t think you’ll stay that way.”

Pidge turns bright red and shoves Lance down the hill. He crows up at her from the bottom, something about his _love-senses never being wrong, Katie!_ Keith watches fondly as she tromps down after him on unstable legs to mercilessly beat the shit out of him. Lance laughs and guards his face, but her drunken fists aren’t solid enough to do more than tickle at his sides. They laugh in a heap at the bottom of the hill as Keith approaches silently.

He’s happy for them.

He loves them so much.

He’ll miss them more than words can say.

They’ve all gone through so much together, and even though he knows he could still check in if he wanted, things will never be the same after tonight. Still, he looks up at the sky and feels it in his heart. He looks back down at his best friends and knows it in his soul.

They’ll be alright.

Keith reaches out, pulling them both into a tight hug, scrunching his burning eyes to fight back against his tear ducts’ treachery.

_They’ll be alright._

When he pulls back, he finds they’ve all got silent tears spilling from their eyes and feels less ashamed.

“You’re the best people I’ve ever known,” he admits.

“You’re the best goth I’ve ever met, Keith,” Pidge sniffles, punching him the shoulder.

“You’re a real asshole,” Lance says. “But fuck if we don’t love you.”

They descend from the hill in silence. There’s nothing left to say, and that’s okay. Keith is still peaceful as they part ways and he quietly picks his way back to the cottage he and Shiro share.

It’s time.

Tonight marks five years precisely and time is no longer an entity Keith can avoid. Shiro is no longer an entity Keith can avoid becoming. Taking a deep breath, he sets his palm against the house’s front door. He glances up at the stars a final time and pushes inside.

Shiro is already there, perched on the edge of the couch in the dark. His eyes glint bright in the dim room, shimmering with expectation and just a hint of concern.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m pretty fuckin’ sad, honestly.”

“This is understandable.”

They stew in silence for a bit, Shiro watching from the couch as Keith paces lightly through the living room. He takes deep breaths, clenches and unclenches his fists, sniffles a little bit. Shiro shifts on the couch, the springs groaning beneath his weight.

Keith looks up at him, and his heart flutters. He’s retained his glamour for now, but the eyes and claws peek through as he clutches at the cushions beneath him. He looks indescribably nervous, which is laughable at best, considering this is something he _knows for a fact_ that neither of them could escape even if they tried. Fate and all.

Shiro heaves a sigh.

“So you have not changed your mind?”

“Not trying to be funny, but I don’t think I’d be allowed to, at this point.”

“We have no contract. You could refuse at any time,” Shiro says seriously. “I would let you go if it made you happy.”

Keith stills in his pacing. He looks at Shiro, curled in on himself and suddenly seeming so _small._ He walks across the room, settling a hand on Shiro’s jaw, lifting his face.

“You make me happy. We’re doing this. I’m just really going to miss them.”

“Okay,” Shiro whispers. “Okay. Do you need some time to prepare?”

“I’ve had five years. Let’s do this shit already.”

Shiro chuckles and presses his face into Keith’s hand.

“Fair enough.”

He stands, and the moment his knees straighten, he is presented before Keith in his true form. No time wasted on the glowing shimmer, no time spent on a dramatic reveal. Just man one moment, demon the next. Keith’s knees go weak with the burst of power the surges forth from him.

“I am given a modicum of additional strength for the ceremony. It is a particularly taxing event.”

“I see,” Keith answers as if he actually has any idea what that means.

“You soon will, my love.”

Shiro scoops Keith up bridal-style and carries him slowly to their bedroom. They had agreed to do this on a real mattress with the windows open rather than in an open field as tradition states. Something about being fucked to literal death out in the open didn’t quit sit right with Keith.

“I must confess, I was quite taken by the idea.”

Keith snorts.

“Fucking of course you were.”

Shiro smiles and sets Keith down on his feet. Slowly, and with great care, he peels Keith from his clothing, vanishing each piece as he goes. They brought no bags on this trip, choosing instead to have Shiro conjure what they would need as needed. _Demon multi-tool._

“That seems a bit reductive.”

Shiro removes his own clothes, dropping them into oblivion. He turns to the bed, extending a hand to Keith in beckoning. Keith takes it and allows himself to be led to the soft sheets. Shiro kisses him lightly on the mouth and lays him out in the center of the mattress. It’s a cloudy night, so he can’t make out much in the dark room, but when he turns his head he can spot the dagger and necklace on the table.

“I also must confess that I am very much looking forward to putting these away for good. You do keep the stone, of course.”

Keith doesn’t quite understand what he’s getting at. He never mentioned anything about it before.

“Ah, yes. You see, once I tie myself to you, there will be no need to allow others to summon me. I will have a full purpose. At that point, I am allowed to retire my own text, should I see fit.”

“And you want to do that?”

Shiro’s face smooths, a clawed hand running down Keith’s side.

“You are all I need.”

He leans over to the bedside table and take up the pendant. He gestures at Keith to lift his head, and he does, allowing the necklace to be slipped down over his neck.

“The stone concentrates my energy, giving a piece of me to you permanently. This is meant to assist you in coping with your early century flares.”

“Flares?”

“Yes. Remember how I told you that you may be unstable?”

“Yes.”

“I will be your stability.”

Keith didn’t know he had a thing for unconditional love and support, but damn if this isn’t doing it better for him than any pillow talk he’s ever heard before. Shiro smiles down at him and drops a hand to Keith’s cock, palming him lightly. He squeezes at Keith, watching in amusement until Keith comes to full hardness beneath him, panting and squirming.

When Keith is sure he’s going to come, Shiro abruptly stops, scooting to the end of the bed to push Keith’s legs apart. He shoves two long, clawed fingers between him lips and tongues around them. When they finally pull out, they’re dripping with spit, glistening and lewd. Shiro hums a tune as he drops them down to press between Keith’s asscheeks, circling his hole.

“I know I do not usually do this, but the least you deserve this evening is a little romance, I think.”

A single digit plunges inside Keith. He cries out, the initial burn and stretch overwhelming him. It sets him on edge, tight and buzzing, until Shiro quirks his finger just right and presses directly into his prostate. Keith arches his back and moans, rolling his hips in search of more contact. Shiro rumbles from above him, slipping his finger in and out of Keith a few more times until he adds a second, then a third. He works Keith open sweet and slow that way, until he’s panting and drooling, pre-come dripping from his dick and smearing across his belly every time he writhes against the bed.

Shiro removes his hand and sits up. He reaches over to the table for the dagger with one hand and lines himself up with the other.

“Are you prepared, Keith? This is your final opportunity to decline me.”

Keith thinks about his childhood, his teenage years, his young adult life. Memories of loss and despair, discovery and joy, love and love and love and _love_ flood through his mind. He sees the things that made him who he is, the things that can still make him who he wants to be. He sees the entity before him, breaking through to settle on top of these frames of his life, the freeze-frame at the end, the slow walk into the distance.

“Do it,” he says.

Shiro drags the blade against his palm and slides home into Keith. He sets a smooth pace, slow but deep thrusts that light fire to Keith’s skin. As he goes, he drips his blood across Keith’s skin, drawing runes and patterns and spells across his body. The symbols glow blindingly bright as they are completed, sinking into him in time with Shiro’s thrusts.

The blood on his skin dries tight, but the patterns continue to work themselves beneath. They sink deepdeep _deep_ into his flesh, pushing down through his muscles, carving harshly into his bones. He can feel the magic tying itself around every bit of him, rewiring his nerves and shifting his organs.

Shiro chants above him, ancient languages, the kind that nobody even knows the name of anymore. His legs shift and he picks up his pace, lifting Keith’s hips to drive just right into him. Every push forward drills directly into Keith’s prostate. His hearing goes muffled with the raw energy pulsing through his veins and pleasure singing through his blood.

His bones crack and pop under Shiro’s hands, and Keith knows he should be concerned, he really does, but he’s so full of euphoria and adrenaline that he just can’t feel a thing. Shiro finishes drawing and sets a heavy palm against Keith’s chest, directly over his heart. Keith’s chest lights up with a bright red light, filling the room with its eerie glow. His skin itches and pulses, he feels too big for his body.

Shiro shifts again, leaning down to kiss Keith deep and needy.

“I need you to climax for me, dearest.”

Keith’s body, full of Shiro’s magic, full of his love and devotion and desire, is helpless against the request. He comes hard across his stomach, his sticky seed mixing with Shiro’s blood across his abs. Even that tingles with power, sending Keith gasping and whining.

“I know, darling. It is overwhelming.”

Shiro lifts the dagger from the depths of the bedsheets. His hips keep working, rutting erratically into Keith. It’s just on the right edge of too much, but _god_ if Keith’s body doesn’t sing for him. Shiro is getting close. Keith can tell in the way his thighs bunch and tighten beneath his skin, the way his hips drop every few thrusts, the heaviness of his balls smacking against Keith’s ass. Shiro sucks in a harsh breath between his teeth and raises the knife.

“Are you ready?” he asks, voice an otherworldly timbre Keith has never heard before. It strikes him deeper than anything ever has, touching the very soul of him. It makes him want to throw himself at the demon’s feet and beg for purpose.

Instead, he chooses to offer himself with a simple, “Always.”

“I’m so thankful for you, my queen.”

Shiro comes hard in Keith and plunges the dagger straight into his heart.

Keith resurfaces in the dark. He’s comfortable, wherever he is, and warm. As his eyes adjust to the low light of the room, he sits up, taking stock of himself. His hands sink into plush softness beneath him, and looking up, he realizes he’s in a bed. It’s an ornate four-poster, all hand-carved wood and shining lacquer.

This time, he’s not alone in the bedroom. Hustle and bustle rushes past the door to the hall, but Keith can’t hear anything once he looks up into the heavy yellow gaze trained upon him. Shiro steps forward and holds a hand out to Keith.

Smiling, Keith blows his hair out of his eyes and accepts it. He’s full of raw power now, unrestrained and wild. He can feel it surging through him, wrapping around his synapses, coating his every nerve. His muscles feel like iron, his skin smooth as silk. Energy crackles from his fingertips, ready for the tapping. Ready to be used at his whim. Using it to his advantage, he tugs Shiro forward with ease. Shiro follows his direction, bending low over the bed until their noses touch. His eyes go heavy lidded once Keith opens his mouth, their lips brushing with the motion.

“I’m not your fucking queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they lived happily ever after(life).
> 
> thank you so much for reading if you got this far!  
> i think this is the first story i've ever published with such long chapters, and i have gotten some of the kindest, sweetest comments on this hefty baby.  
> i'm so happy i could share my weird love of demons with y'all!
> 
> please come see me over on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/) if you'd like!  
> <333!

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come see me over on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/these_mortals)!
> 
> see you soon!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Undercover Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932417) by [sylvermyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvermyth/pseuds/sylvermyth)




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